


When Most I Wink

by sal_si_puedes



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Drug Use, Fluff, M/M, Magical Realism, Recreational Drug Use, Schmoop, Smut, Soulmates, but trust me - it's all going to be fine!!!, dreamworld!AU, other pairings than Marvey (brief/mentioned), slight underage undertones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-05 00:36:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 32,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11566668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sal_si_puedes/pseuds/sal_si_puedes
Summary: For all of their lives, Harvey and Mike have had a very special connection. The world which they share from the very beginning, the Dreamworld, is a different place. It has its own rules, its own magic. When they finally meet in this world, the real world, those two universes collide - and ultimately align.(Formerly known as "the Dreamworld!AU".)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lawsonpines13](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=lawsonpines13).



> This was a prompt I started writing in 2014. I've had it on the back burner since then - now it's finished.
> 
> Of course, this is for you, dearest [naias](http://lawsonpines13.tumblr.com/), because you inspired this. Happy Birthday, my darling!!!
> 
> A very special and a HUGE Thank you goes to Sway, aka [tastymoves](http://tastymoves.tumblr.com/), for all her incredible encouragement and cheerleading! Thank you SO much!!!!

_When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see,_  
_For all the day they view things unrespected;_  
_But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,_  
_And, darkly bright, are bright in dark directed._  
_Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright,_  
_How would thy shadow’s form form happy show_  
_To the clear day with thy much clearer light,_  
_When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so!_  
_How would, I say, mine eyes be blessed made_  
_By looking on thee in the living day,_  
_When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade_  
_Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay!_  
_All days are nights to see till I see thee,_  
_And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me._  
(Sonnet 43, William Shakespeare)

*****

_Yes, Harvey and Mike always seem to be intertwined through fate._  
(Aaron Korsh ([x](http://www.tvguide.com/news/suits-season6-premiere-postmortem/)))

**January, 1981: Harvey**

Harvey shoots up from the depths of his sleep on a cold January night and sits bold upright. It is pitch dark in their bedroom and his heart is hammering wildly in his chest. It feels as if it’s his birthday, Halloween and the first day of the summer break all at once. He doesn't know what woke him up, but he has a vague feeling it must have been something really _monumental_.

"Mo-nu-men-tal," he whispers, the new word he's learned at school just the other day slowly dripping from his lips. He has been trying it out ever since, saying it every now and then to see if it fits anything he knows. For the first time it does.

He doesn't feel tired at all and the skin of his face is prickling in a weird, but not at all unpleasant way. It feels as if someone has just gently caressed his cheeks and placed tender kisses upon his cheeks and eyelids. It feels good.

"Mom?" He softly calls out and reaches for the wristwatch on his bedside table. Once he has managed to find the tiny button to light up the clock-face, he frowns. It's a little after half past three. He disentangles himself from the covers and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. He can hear Marcus stirring in his bed on the other side of the room and he tries to breathe as quietly as possible, pressing his right palm firmly against his chest.

"Habby?" Marcus slurs. He's probably still more asleep than awake. "'S up?"

"Nothing, buddy," Harvey whispers. "'s alright. Go back to sleep."

"'Kay,” Marcus yawns and buries his face against his raggedy stuffed monkey.

Once he's sure that Marcus has fallen asleep again, Harvey gets up and pads down the stairs and into the kitchen. Maybe a glass of juice will help him get back to sleep as well. 

The kitchen door is standing slightly ajar and from where he's standing at the foot of the stairs Harvey can see the dim kitchen light seeping into the hallway. He slowly walks across the wooden floor and pushes the door to the kitchen open carefully.

His dad is sitting at the kitchen table, a cigarette dangling between his fingers and a glass of scotch standing right in front of him. He's scribbling notes onto some dog-eared and slightly rumpled music paper. He is composing, Harvey can see that from the furrow of his brows and from the softness around his mouth that he's only ever seen when his dad is writing music or when he's watching Marcus play in the garden.

Gordon looks up from the slightly crumpled paper he’s writing on and takes a drag from his cigarette. "Hey, son," he grins. "Can't sleep either?"

Harvey walks over to the table and pulls out a chair. The legs make a scratching noise on the kitchen floor, and Harvey flinches. It’s pretty loud, he thinks, and it doesn’t sound too pleasant. Running his fingers through his hair, he catches his father's eyes. "I woke up."

"No shit," Gordon replies and Harvey grins.

"I'm so excited," Harvey bursts out after a short pause. "I woke up and now I can't sleep because I'm so excited! But I’m not exactly sure why. Something happened."

"Hmmm," Gordon hums and takes a swig from his glass. "Something happened?"

"Dunno," Harvey says, pursing his lips and locking eyes with his father again. "But I suppose. Yeah. Something happened." He scratches the back of his head and frowns. "I think," he adds. "But I don't know what it is. Not exactly."

"I see," his dad replies and takes another deep drag from his cigarette before he crushes the butt in the glass ashtray. "Good or bad?"

"I don't know," Harvey answers and narrows his eyes. "Hmmm," he muses. "Either very good or very bad. That's so hard to tell sometimes, right? The difference?"

"Right," Gordon confirms and sits back in his chair. "Yeah."

"Yeah," Harvey repeats, nodding. "It has to be the best thing, though, I think. It _feels_ like the best thing – like something I—Something I—I don't know. Something so—so _monumental_."

"Hmmm," Gordon hums again, nods and rises. He walks over to the kitchen cabinet and takes out another glass. He pours a tiny bit of scotch into the glass and then walks over to the sink and fills the rest of the glass with tap water. He sets the glass down in front of Harvey and rises his own. "That sounds like a reason to celebrate." He raises his glass a little more and waits till Harvey picks up his own. "To the best thing!"

"To the best thing!" Harvey echoes and clinks his glass against Gordon's. They both take a swallow and set their glasses down simultaneously.

Harvey grins. "How was your gig?" he asks, and Gordon smiles.

"Oh, it sure was great! We played a lot of encores and Jimmy was amazing tonight. We all were. We'll play at that club again next month and you know what? I'll take you with me next time so you can listen, okay?"

Harvey beams. He loves seeing his dad in such a good mood. "Okay," he says and takes another swig from his glass.

"Hey, son," Gordon reaches for the guitar that has been leaning against the table. "Wanna jam a little? Make a little music?"

Harvey nods. "Can we sing, too?"

"Sure thing," Gordon answers and nods towards the kitchen door. "Go get the other guitar." He watches Harvey walk across the room and bring the leather case, open it and take out the instrument. His eyes follow Harvey's fingers as they run over the wooden body and the strings. 

Harvey looks up and his father plucks the E-string on his guitar once. Harvey listens closely and furrows his brow, humming along with the note. Gordon smiles as he watches his son tune the guitar. 

Once Harvey is finished he looks up and plays the a-minor chord. It's his favorite chord and the first one he's ever learned. 

Gordon smiles and plays a-minor in return.

"What about mom?" Harvey asks, playing another few random chords, running his fingers softly over the strings. He locks eyes with his father and bites his lips.

"Oh,” his father says lightly but a faint frown furrows his brow as he pauses for the shortest of moments. “She'll be fast asleep, son. She won't hear us. Don't worry."

Harvey nods and a small smile plays around his mouth. "'Kay."

"What do you want to sing, then?"

"God Only Knows," Harvey answers quickly, looking up from the strings.

"Beach Boys," Gordon nods and purses his lips a little. " _Excellent choice._ Remember the chords?"

"Yeah, sure," Harvey grins and plays the first part of the intro. "But I get to sing lead, okay?"

"Son," Gordon takes another swig from his glass and gets his guitar ready. "I wouldn't have it any other way. I'll do the backgrounds with pride. They are the most difficult part anyway."

Harvey blows him a raspberry and starts to count.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summer 1988 – Summer 1989: Mike**

The first time they meet, Mike is just a little boy, six, maybe seven years old or so, and skinny as a twig.

It's dark and he can't see his hand in front of his eyes. He takes a tentative step, testing his footing, and the ground beneath his feet seems to be solid enough. He doesn't know why he's barefoot, but he's not feeling cold, so he guesses that it's all right.

"Hello?" Mike asks, for some reason expecting to hear an echo, but his voice sounds quite normal. Maybe a bit insecure, and he doesn't like that all that much, so he tries again, making his voice sound firmer and a little deeper. 

"Hello? Is someone there?" He can sense a presence nearby, but nobody answers. When he hears someone slowly approaching, footsteps and breathing, he reaches towards the sound with his hand and calls out again.

"Hello? Is there somebody?" He listens into the darkness and startles a bit when he hears a voice quite close to him.

"Yes. I'm here," the voice says. Whoever is speaking seems to be standing right next to him.

Mike reaches out again, but his fingers only feel thin air. Or nothing, rather, because air doesn't really feel like anything now, does it, Mike muses.

"This is weird," Mike says, because it is. It is really weird.

"Yes," the voice answers. "A bit. Are you scared?"

"No," Mike replies, because he isn't. And why should he be? "Who exactly are you?"

"I'm not sure," the voice says. It is really quite close to him, so Mike tries to reach for it again, but just like the last time, his fingers touch nothing. "Not exactly."

"Are you an angel?" Mike asks, and he thinks that maybe that question was a little bold.

"No," the voice answers. "Why would you think that?"

"Well," Mike says in his most serious and grown-up voice. "Grammy says that angels are the most beautiful creatures in the whole wide world and in all the realms of heaven."

"Can you see me?", the voice asks, sounding a little bewildered.

"No," Mike replies. "No, I can't see a thing. Or you."

Mike really can't see a thing, but for some reason he knows that the owner of the other voice nods.

"Are you an angel, then?" The voice sounds curious, yet incredibly kind.

"No!" Mike giggles. "No. _Of course_ not. No _way_!"

"Well," the voice replies after a short pause, sounding slightly offended. "Then your Grammy knows _shit_."

"Oh no," Mike rebukes quickly, feeling terribly appalled by that accusation. "No, no. Grammy knows _everything_!"

"She does?" The voice sounds dubious. 

"Yeah," Mike answers eagerly. "She does! She knows about history and that other thing, that—that chemistry, and baseball and card games and angels and the world and the realms of heaven and everything and… _stuff_ ," he adds, nodding vigorously in the darkness.

"Stuff," the other voice repeats, and Mike can't help but think that it is mocking him. "That's really monumental."

"She—" Mike pauses to think. He knows he has to bring out the big guns now, since that voice clearly doesn't believe a word he is saying – and he wants it to believe him. He wants that so much. "She even ran away from home once," Mike reveals. "When she was just a little kid. Got picked up by _dock workers_ , she was, and all. They brought her back home, though," he goes on. "She was even smaller than I am now. She told me when—" he pauses again and bites his lips before he continues to speak. "When I ran away from home some time ago."

"You ran away from home?", the voice asks slowly and after a short pause.

"Yeah," Mike answers. "But she picked me up when I was just walking by her house and brought me back home, then." He chuckles, a little embarrassed. "Didn't get very far, 'm afraid."

He turns his head towards the place from where the voice had been coming before.

"Are you a person, then?"

"Yeah, I suppose," the voice replies. "Yeah. I think I am."

"Hm," Mike scoffs. "Boy or girl?"

"Dunno," the voice says and falls silent for a while. "Boy?"

"Yeah," Mike answers after a couple of seconds. "Me, too."

"What's your name then?" the voice inquires.

"Huh," Mike shrugs. "I can't remember."

He can feel the other voice raise their eyebrows. Which is weird, since he doesn't even know for sure the other voice actually _has_ eyebrows. Or eyes, for that matter.

"Well, that is very weird, now," Mike wonders. "I usually remember _everything_."

"Oh, so you're just like your Gram, then," the voice prompts.

"No, silly!" Mike shoots back. "Didn't you listen? Grammy _knows_ everything. I just _remember_ everything."

"Ah," the voice acknowledges. "Yeah, of course. That's different."

Mike nods. "It _is_. People don't like that, usually. They think I'm weird."

"Huh," the other voice huffs. "I don't know… I like it. I think it's kinda cool."

"Really?" Mike asks, eyes widening and a huge smile spreading over his face.

"Yeah. Really." This time, a distinct, approving grin swings in the other voice's words.

"So, you're a person, then."

"Yeah," the voice says, sounding a little more distant than before. "Same as you."

"Hey," Mike reaches out again. "Been meaning to ask: Why are you so sad?"

"I'm not _sad_ ," the voice says.

"Yes, you are," Mike murmurs. "I know you are. I can feel it." He reaches out once more but lets his arm drop with a frustrated sigh when he, once more, feels only air against his fingertips. "Can I help?"

"I told you, I'm not sad," the voice repeats, and it sounds a little hoarse.

"And I told you that I _know_ you are," Mike answers patiently. "It feels tight and damp and like it hurts a lot. You don't have to lie to me, you know."

"I don't know why I'm sad, okay?" The other voice sounds more than a little annoyed now. "Something to do with my parents, I think. With my mum. I just—I should be angry, I think, but—It's—I'm—There's nothing you can do, I guess."

Mike ponders that in silence for a little while.

"I'm sorry," he finally says, and again, he knows that the other voice, the other _person_ is nodding. "I could—Would you like it if I told you a story?" He asks tentatively.

"How does that help?" the voice asks, and Mike flinches at the sound of defeat it carries.

"You don't know?" he asks, taken aback.

"No," the voice answers slowly. "Does it, then?"

"Oh yeah," Mike answers quickly, nodding his head. "It does. A _lot_ really, if it's done right. Grammy does it _all the time_ when I'm feeling sad, and sometimes, my mum does it, too." He straightens his back and clears his throat. "It's best when you have cookies to go along with it," he says." "But I guess we'll have to make do without. We don't have cookies, do we?"

"No, I don't think so," the other voice answers, sounding slightly disappointed.

"Oh, never mind," Mike says cheerfully and claps his hands. "We'll make do." He clears his throat again. "Now, it is very important that this is done right," he adds. "I have never done it before myself, so I might not be any good. But I'll try, okay?"

"Okay," the other voice says after a couple of moments. "Go on, then."

"Okay," Mike nods. "First you have to tell me your name."

"Hmmm," the other voice huffs. "I don't remember my name either."

"Oh," Mike sighs. "Oh. Now, that _won't_ do," he adds determinedly. He can't have his first very own story ruined by such a minor inconvenience. "We'll make one up, then."

"I don't know," the other voice replies.

"Oh, come on!" Mike encourages. "We need a name for you. For the story!" He reaches out to nudge the other voice, but drops his arm again before really trying. "Come on. Pick one!"

"You pick," the other voice says quietly, and Mike imagines that the other person has his hands stuffed into his pocket and is drawing patterns against the ground with the tip of his shoe.

"Are you barefoot?" Mike asks without thinking and bites his tongue once the words have left his mouth. That really is a very inquisitive thing to ask and he already feels sorry he did.

"No," the other voice comes back. "Are you?"

"Yeah," Mike nods. "Must have forgotten my shoes."

"Happens," the other voice says, and Mike shrugs in the darkness.

"So," the other voice inquires after some moments of silence.

"So," Mike replies pensively. "Hmmm, what could your name be?" He worries his lower lip between his teeth. "What's a good name…? What would be a good name for you…?"

"Ha!" Mike exclaims after a while. "I know. Stanley!"

"Hmmm," the other voice ponders.

"Would Stanley be—Would that work?" Mike asks nervously. "Would Stanley work?"

"Stanley," the other voice repeats slowly, and Mike can hear that a smile is spreading over the invisible face. "Yeah, I think Stanley will work. Good choice, kid."

Mike beams. "Great! Let's get started then." He claps his hands once more and clears his throat. "Once upon a time there was a boy named Stanley and he was—Hey!" he interrupts himself. "Where are you going?"

"I don't know," the voice answers. "Away."

"Don't go away," Mike says, and his eyes widen in the darkness at how small his voice sounds and how tight his chest feels all of a sudden. "I'm just getting started."

"I have to, kid." The voice is very faint now. "I'm sorry."

"Why?" Mike wants to know.

"I don't know," a soft whisper touches his ear.

"When can I see you again?" he asks, anxiously.

"I don't know." An even fainter whisper against his ear.

"I want to see you again," he shouts.

"Technically, you haven't really _seen_ me yet…"

"Same difference!" Mike yells. "Come back, smart ass! I want to talk to you some more! Come back!"

Nothing but silence is his answer.

"Come back," Mike whispers before he falls back into pure nothingness. "Come back. I want to tell you my story…"

*****

The next morning, right after breakfast, Mike jumps onto his bike as soon as his mum gives him permission to leave the house and goes to see his Grammy. It's a crisp early summer morning, but you can already taste that it's going to be a hot, sunny day. 

His Grammy lives only five houses down the road, so Mike doesn't have to pedal very far. He's out of breath nevertheless when he arrives at her place and he just drops his bike on the front lawn and runs around the house and up the stairs at the backside and stumbles into the kitchen, cheeks all flushed red and eyes blazing.

"Gram!" He shouts and the door bangs shut behind him. "Grammy!!" He walks towards the table and throws the magazine his mother has asked him to take to Gram onto its cleanly scrubbed wooden surface.

"Gaaaahaaaaam – I'm heeeeeere!!"

His grandmother enters the kitchen, smiling. "I heard you the first time, Michael," she chuckles and ruffles his hair. "What have you brought for me here, then, hmm? Let me see…" She picks up the magazine and brings it a little closer to her eyes. "Oh, tell your mum thank you." She puts it down again and walks over to the refrigerator. "That can wait, though." She pours a glass of apple juice, places it carefully onto the table and motions for Mike to sit down. "Why don't you sit down and tell me what you're so excited about?"

Mike quickly sits down and takes a huge gulp of the juice. 

"Careful," Gram smiles and sits down opposite him. "Slowly."

Mike nods and grins broadly. 

"You're so happy today, Mike," Gram wonders, smiling.

"Yeah," Mike beams. "Yeah, I am."

He takes another gulp from his glass and sets it down again. "I made a new friend."

"Oh, how wonderful!", his grandmother exclaims and reaches for his hands. "Tell me about—"

"Stanley," Mike interrupts. "His name is Stanley and at first I thought he was an angel, but he's a person, just like me."

"Well, now that's very nice," Gram answers and squeezes Mike's hands. "Where did you meet him?"

"I don't know," Mike answers slowly. "I was asleep."

Grammy nods. "I see." She gets up, takes some cookies out of a jar and arranges them on a small plate. Carrying the plate over to the table, she furrows her brow a little. "Were you barefoot?"

"Yeah," Mike spurts out. "How did you know?"

"Mike," she smiles. "I know—"

"Yeah, you know _everything_. I _know_!", he interrupts impatiently. "I told him that, by the way. I told him you knew _everything_." Mike frowns. "He said you knew shit," he says after a short pause and blushes.

"Michael!" his grandmother reprimands sternly. "Language."

"Sorry," Mike mutters. "But that's what _he_ said. And then I told him that _he_ knew sh—That you _do_ know _everything_ and I told him all about it. That shut him up for a while." He looks up and there is so much pride glowing in his eyes. 

"And why would that new friend of yours say such a nice thing about your grandmother?" She asks and winks at Mike. "I don't think I like him very much."

"Oh, no, Gram," Mike replies eagerly. "You would love him! Grammy, please! You have to like him, you just _have_ to! He's _so_ nice and he's really friendly and very, very kind. Normally, I mean. Only he was so _sad_ and when he asked I told him that I wasn't an angel either and that's why he said that, I guess." Mike runs his fingers through his hair. "Please, Grammy, you simply _have_ to like him. He's—He's my best friend, and I really, really, _really_ want you to like him."

"He was sad?" Gram inquires. "Oh. Why? What was the matter?"

"He couldn't tell," Mike answers. "Or maybe he just wouldn't. I'm not sure. That place is weird."

Gram nods solemnly. 

"And then he had to go," Mike continues. "I was just about to start my story and then he had to go."

"You were going to tell him a story?"

"Yeah," Mike beams. "Yeah, I was. Because he was so sad, you know. A proper story with his name in it and all."

"But he couldn't stay," his grandmother muses.

"Yeah, he had to go when I was just getting started." Mike frowns. "Do you think I'll see him again?"

"Hmm," Grammy ponders. "I'm not sure, Michael. Maybe you will, maybe you won't."

"Oh," Mike whispers and stares at his fingers. "Oh. I had hoped you'd say that I would."

"Would you like to see him again, then?" she asks.

"Yeah," Mike murmurs without looking up. "I would like that. Like, so, so much." He raises his head and locks eyes with her. “I have to see him again, I simply have to.”

His grandmother reaches for his face and cups his jaw. "Well, Michael, _then_ I am sure you will."

Mike smiles and reaches for a cookie.


	3. Chapter 3

The next time they meet, Mike is barefoot again. Just like the last time, he's suddenly there, it's a bit like waking up, he thinks, and he feels as if he has been running. He jumps up and down a couple of times and punches the air with his small fists. He has so much energy and he can't wait for Stanley to show up. He knows Stanley is going to be there as well, he just knows.

"Hey!" Mike calls out and, once more, he is surprised at the lack of an echo. "Hey!"

When no answer comes for the longest time, he bites his lips and hangs his head. "I thought you'd be here," he murmurs. "I really thought—"

"Hey, kid." The other voice suddenly is right there, right next to him, coming out of nowhere. "I'm right here."

"Hey!" Mike beams. "I knew you'd come!"

"You did?" The other voice sounds amused.

"Of course I did!" Mike punches the air again and turns his head towards where the voice is coming from. "And you're not sad today."

"No," the other voice answers, and Mike can hear that Stanley is smiling. "No, I'm not."

"Are you happy, then?" Mike asks. "Because I am and wouldn't it be great if we were both happy? We could celebrate together, then, being happy, I mean. We could even have a little party if there's enough time. We could dance and—" Mike interrupts himself, suddenly remembering that he's never given Stanley a chance to answer. "Are you, then?" he asks again. "Happy, I mean?"

"Yeah," the other voice replies and the answer is followed by a full on laugh. "Yeah, kid, I am."

Mike nods and reaches out, but, as always, his fingers touch only thin air.

"I'm so happy I could pinch your arm," Mike says, and he knows that his voice sounds a bit discouraged, because as happy as he may be – he can't do that. _Oh, well,_ he thinks, _never mind. Another time maybe, when I’m better at this._

"What are you so happy about, then," he asks and hopes that Stanley will at least have a vague idea about it. Because he has an idea about the reason for his own happiness and he wants to share it with Stanley so badly. He really hopes Stanley will ask him about it later.

"You wouldn't understand," the other voice says and trails away.

"Ha!" Mike isn't going to be dismissed that easily. "You can't know that! I'm very clever for my age, that's what they say, anyway. So – try me!"

"Hmmm," Stanley muses. "I don't know. It has to do with music."

"Oh!" Mike exclaims. "Oh, but that's just wonderful! I love music!"

"You do?" The other voice asks tentatively. "What kind of music?"

"All the kinds, of course," Mike replies eagerly. "Just not that—What's it called again?" Mike snaps his fingers a couple of times, searching for the right word. "Ah, I know. _Miles Davis_." He shakes his head violently. "I don't like that at all. Too screechy."

The other voice snorts. "Miles Davis is a genius. I _love_ Miles Davis," Stanley says, sounding quite blasé. 

"Really? You _do_?" Mike asks and wrinkles his nose in disbelief. "You're _weird_." He makes a dismissive motion with his hand and turns towards Stanley again. "But anyway. You—you wanted to tell me—"

"Why do I have the vague feeling that there is something that _you_ want to tell _me_?" Stanley asks teasingly and Mike thinks he can feel how the other voice reaches out for him and tries to smack the back of his head.

He grins and tries to do the same, without success, of course. "Because I _do_ ," he giggles. "But you go first."

"Okay," the other voice says, the hint of a smile still audible in the word. "I'm happy because my father wrote a song for me."

"Really?" Mike asks again. "A real song? With words in it and all?"

"No," Stanley answers, and for some reason Mike knows that he's shaking his head in a slightly desperate gesture. "No words." He clears his throat. "My dad is not a singer. He's a saxophone player."

"Oh—oh _no_ ," Mike blurts out. "I'm so sorry. Like Miles Davis?"

" _Miles Davis_ ," the other voice explains slowly, and Mike can't help but feel as if Stanley is a little angry with him (he only hopes that anger will fade when he lets Stanley talk about his dad for a while… or about that Miles Davis guy, he really doesn't mind as long as Stanley stays happy and lets Mike talk to him later, lets him tell him about—), "Miles Davis plays the trumpet, not the saxophone. And Miles Davis is the best trumpeter in the world. As a matter of fact, he really is a genius. Everyone knows that."

"Oh, okay," Mike concedes, making a mental note to check out that Miles Davis again sometime soon. "But it's not really a song if it doesn't have any words now, is it?"

"I don't know," Stanley replies. "I've never thought about it that way. I'd say it's a song nevertheless. A song without words. A wordless song, maybe. But still a song." And Mike knows that the other voice is scratching the back of his head. "Do you sing, then?"

"Yeah," Mike answers proudly. "I do. I _love_ to sing, I really, _really_ do. And I might even get a solo in my school's next recital."

"Really?" The other voice sounds impressed. "Is _that_ what you're so happy about?"

"No," Mike says, scratching the back of his own head. "Because I don't know for sure yet if I'll really get it, so…" His voice trails away and he sighs. "But."

"Yeah?" The other voice inquires.

"I think I've made a new friend."

"Oh."

"Yeah, he and his family moved in next to Grammy's house last week and that's how we met. We built a hut in the bushes in Grammy's garden and we had ice cream and—and I know he's going to be my best friend in all the world," Mike gushes. "I just _know_ it."

"Hmmm," Stanley doesn't seem to be very convinced. "I see." He pauses for a little while before he speaks again. "I'm not sure I like him very much, kid. I don't think it’s a good—"

"Hey," Mike interjects quickly. "Wait! Wait, I have an idea! You know – _you_ could be my best friend _in here_ and _he_ could be my best friend _out there_." He bites his lips, hoping with all his heart he hasn't messed up again. The Miles Davis thing still sits in his stomach like a heavy weight. 

"I don't know," the other voice replies slowly. "I'm not sure I like him."

"Oh, come on!" Mike encourages boldly. "That would be great, wouldn’t it? Who is your best friend out there, then?"

"I don't—" Stanley pauses. "I don't know."

"Oh," Mike falls silent and ponders Stanley's answer for a while. "Don't grown-ups have best friends at all?"

"I'm not—I don't know." The other voice sounds a little fainter than before.

"Hey!" Mike tries to grab hold of Stanley's arm, but as usual his fingers just close around thin, dark air. "Hey, don't be mad. Please, don't leave just yet… I—I could—" He thinks hard for a couple of seconds and then he snaps his fingers again. "I could sing a song for you!"

"There's no time," Stanley says, his voice slowly fading into the distance.

"Don't go," Mike pleads. "You haven't told me about that song yet, you—"

"Kid, I—" The other voice is nothing more than a whisper now.

"Bye," Mike whispers in return. "Come back soon, okay?" But he isn't sure Stanley can still hear him. He doesn’t know if he’s still here.

He starts humming to himself quietly.

*****

Mike and Trevor are sitting on a bench at the edge of the basketball court, their feet kicking the air. They're both sweaty and still slightly out of breath. They have been shooting hoops for an hour or so, before some older boys took over the court. It has been only a few weeks since they first met but ever since that day they've been out and about together almost every afternoon after school.

"So," Trevor says, nudging Mike's upper arm with his elbow. 

"So," Mike grins in reply. He tosses the basketball into the air and catches it again. It lands in his hands with a hollow thud.

"I was thinking," Trevor's breathing has almost evened out and he scratches his throat. "I was thinking that we should become blood brothers."

Mike's eyes widen and he sets down the basketball behind his back on the wall, positioning it carefully right on top of the groove between two bricks so it doesn't roll away. 

"You mean like—Like in the movies?" His voice sounds a little hesitant and he doesn't want Trevor to think that he's afraid. "For _real_?"

"Yeah," Trevor grins and snatches the ball from its place on the wall behind them. "For real." He throws the ball to the floor between his legs and catches it again. "Don’t you want to?" 

Mike frowns. "We’d need—Do you have a knife?"

Trevor nods. "We would be friends forever like that." He glances at Mike and throws the ball to the floor again.

A tentative smile creeps onto Mike's face and he leans sideways and catches the ball before it reaches Trevor's hands. "Okay," he says and nods. "Okay. Let's do it."

They run back to Trevor's house where Trevor rummages around in a wooden chest he pulls out from underneath his bed until he finds a small hunting knife.

"Back from when I was in the boy scouts in Nebraska," he explains and pulls the knife from its leather sheath. "Careful, Mikey. It's pretty sharp."

Mike pales a little but he tries to maintain a confident air about himself. "Good," he nods. "How are we going to do this?"

"We," says Trevor eagerly. "We go to our hut. And then we cut our palms and then we shake hands. That's how they do it in the movies."

"Okay," Mike nods and swallows. "Let's go."

Once they're inside of their hut, Trevor unsheathes the knife again and reaches for Mike's hand. "We have to tell each other a secret before we do it," he states.

Mike's hand flinches in Trevor's grip but he doesn't withdraw it. "A secret?"

"Yeah," Trevor confirms. "Something that we really don't want others to know, just us."

Mike thinks for a while and then he nods. "Okay."

"You first." Trevor squeezes Mike's hand and lifts the knife a little.

"I—" Mike swallows and closes his eyes. "I already have a best friend." He takes a deep breath and rushes through his next words. "But he's not from here. He's from when I'm asleep. I see him in my sleep, I mean. His name is Stanley. He doesn't like you all that much, but I think he's just a bit suspicious when he doesn't know someone."

Trevor laughs and nearly drops the knife. "Oh, Mikey, but that's not a very good secret, is it?!"

Mike frowns and tries to withdraw his hand, but Trevor's grip tightens before he can do that. "It's my best one," Mike murmurs. "It's the only one I have."

"Okay," Trevor says. "Okay, then I accept it." He looks Mike into the eyes and nods. "Here's mine." He straightens his spine and pushes his chest out a little. "I stole a pack of my dad's cigarettes once and I have smoked three of them already. I have them in the box under my bed, the box where the knife was."

"Wow," Mike whispers and he understands why Trevor wasn't too impressed with his own silly secret. "That's—"

"I know," Trevor replies. "I'll show you later. You can even have one, if you want to."

Mike nods and shifts slightly.

"Okay, let's do this now," Trevor exclaims and hands Mike the knife. "You cut your palm a little and then I do mine and then we shake hands. Like in the movies."

Mike takes the knife from Trevor's hand and looks down on his palm. "Isn't this dangerous?" He asks, his voice trembling a little.

"No," Trevor answers quickly. "Not if you don't make the cut too deep. Just deep enough to draw a little blood, not more."

Mike takes a deep breath and brings the knife to his palm. He hesitates for a fraction of a second before he closes his little hand around the blade and pulls it from his loose grip. A sharp hiss escapes his mouth and he bites his lips to keep from yelling "Ouch" or something. Mike hands the knife to Trevor and when he opens his fist, a thin red line runs across his small palm. He can see that small drops of blood are beginning to pool at the line's edge.

Trevor runs the knife over his palm as well and tosses it aside. He reaches for Mike's hand and they lock their hands in a tight handshake.

"Blood brothers," Trevor says and Mike shivers. "Best friends forever."

"Yeah," Mike presses through his teeth. The cut in his palm hurts and his knees feel a little weak. "Best friends forever."

*****

This time, Mike _knows_ that Stanley will be there and for a reason he doesn't understand for the very first time he's a bit reluctant to meet the other voice. Usually, he's eager to talk to him and he's incredibly disappointed whenever Stanley doesn't show up. Which has happened only two or three times so far, but those times have been enough for Mike to wish for them never to happen again. 

So he stays still and quiet once he finds himself there. He doesn't call out like he usually does. He waits. He flexes his toes and runs a hand through his hair. The hand with the fading cut in its palm. It still hurts a little, but not enough anymore to make Mike cry in the dull darkness of his room like it did the first night after he and Trevor became blood brothers.

"Hey," the other voice suddenly says, and it’s very close to Mike's ear.

Mike startles and almost trips. "Hey," he replies, shoving his fists into the pockets of his jeans.

"What's wrong?" Stanley sounds suspicious and even a little concerned, and Mike doesn't like that sound at all.

"Nothing," he says lightly. "Nothing's wrong." He forces his lips into a smile and exhales slowly. "I wanted to tell you something _really_ cool!" Mike has never heard that weird ring in his own voice before. He can't even name it properly, he only knows that it sounds _off_.

"Yeah?" Stanley asks. "What is it, then?"

"That friend I told you all those stories about," Mike starts and falls silent again after a few words. It's weird, this place, he thinks. He remembers a lot from the other world, but not everything. And names seem to be a general problem. "Well," he continues after a little while when the other voice doesn't say anything. "Well, we're blood brothers now."

"What?" Stanley snaps, startling Mike once more.

"We became blood brothers a couple of days ago," Mike repeats. "Like in the movies." When Stanley keeps silent, Mike rambles on. "We'll be best friends forever, now. We used a real knife and my hand still hurts a bit, but—"

"Show me." Stanley's voice suddenly is demanding and ice-cold, so cold it makes Mike shiver. 

"What?" he asks, bewildered.

"Show me your hand."

"How?" Mike asks, taking a step backwards.

"I said _show me your hand_." Stanley must have followed him because his voice is just as close to Mike as it had been before, if not closer. 

"But that's not going to work," Mike whispers. "We can't—In here you can't—"

"I don't care," the other voice spits and Mike knows that Stanley is reaching for him. "I don't fucking care – show me what he did to you!"

"Stan," Mike tries to calm the other voice, "Stanley, listen, I did this myself and he—I—"

"What's your name?" Stanley hisses and Mike takes another step backwards. He's sure he's going to hit a wall sometime soon.

"I don't—"

"What's your _goddamn name_?" Stanley sounds furious now and Mike doesn't know what to do.

"I don't know," Mike whispers, taking another step backwards. "I don't _know_ , okay? I—I don't remember."

"Shit," Stanley hisses and for a moment Mike thinks he can feel Stanley's breath on his face. " _Fuck_." A slight hint of desperation creeps into Stanley's voice and that's even worse than the suspicion and the concern from earlier. It's even worse than the ice.

"Cole," the other voice says and Mike immediately knows that Stanley is reaching for straws. "Cole, please. Please promise me that you won't do something like that ever again."

"What?" Mike asks, confused.

"Something so stupid, something so incredibly stupid." Stanley obviously tries to calm himself down, forcing his voice to a quiet whisper. 

"It wasn't stupid," Mike tries to explain. "We wanted—"

“Why would you do that? Hurt yourself just to prove…”

Mike can feel himself blushing. He doesn't really understand why it would be dangerous since they made sure the cuts weren't too deep, but the tone of Stanley's voice immediately convinces him that Stanley is right about this.

"But we didn't cut that deep, we took ca—"

"Okay," Stanley exhales shakily and an image of slim fingers running through blond strands of hair flashes before Mike's inner eye. "Okay." Another shaky breath and Stanley speaks again. "It's not a good idea to play with knives, you know. And it's an even worse idea to hurt yourself like that, just because someone tells you to. You'll understand later why that is but for now you have to trust me and promise me that you won't do anything that dangerous ever again."

When Mike stays silent – he has to think about everything the other voice has said, he doesn't understand – Stanley speaks again. "Cole, please."

"I promise," Mike finally whispers. "But that's not my name. Cole, I mean. It's not _my_ name."

"I know," Stanley answers, and for some reason he sounds exhausted. "Don't ever scare me like that again."

"I promise, I won't" Mike quickly says. "I'm sorry. I didn't know." He can feel Stanley nodding and a little bit of the tension falls away from his body. "I'm sorry."

"I know," Stanley says, his voice returning to its usual timbre. "You need a name."

"I know," Mike says. "But I told you that I can't remember what it is. Who's Cole, then?" The question is out of his mouth before he knows it and Stanley's sharp intake of breath makes Mike want to bite his tongue. He waits. He waits as patiently as he knows to.

"My friend," Stanley says after a long pause, and Mike is surprised to hear a distinct tremble in the other voice. “My friend. He was my—my friend, I mean." Stanley clears his throat, and once more, Mike waits. "He is dead now. He—He died."

"Oh," Mike whispers.

"About a year ago." Mike can hear Stanley swallow once, twice. Then nothing.

"Oh," Mike says again, unsure what to do. "Was he your best friend?"

"Ye—No," Stanley answers briskly. "No. And I don't want to talk about it anymore. About him."

"Why not?" Mike asks and reaches for the other voice in vain. "Don't you miss him?"

"Don't." Stanley sounds defensive and very, very small all of a sudden, Mike thinks. That's maybe the worst.

"I don't—" Stanley coughs and inhales deeply through his nose. "I don't want to cry. I’m too old to cry."

"You can, though, you know," Mike says, taking a step towards Stanley's voice. "I don't mind and I promise I won't tell anyone."

"I know," Stanley replies. "But it's always so much worse afterwards."

"Like my hand," Mike whispers and bites his lips. 

"Yeah," Stanley nods. "Just like that." He sniffles quietly and clears his throat. "What about Rick?"

"What's with Rick?" Mike asks, slightly taken aback. "Who is Rick?" He doesn't know any Ricks, he thinks.

"As a name for you? Would that work? Rick, Richard?"

"Like Richard the _Lionheart_?" Mike asks, a smile spreading over his face. Richard the Lionheart is his favorite hero, even though he doesn't know very much about him. But "the Lionheart" – that has been something Mike's wanted to be for as long as he can remember. "Like him?"

"Yeah, like him," Stanley replies, and Mike beams.

"Oh, I think that will work just fine!" 

"Good," the other voice says, chuckling with amused satisfaction.

"Rick _is_ a good name, isn't it?" Mike asks and tries it on his tongue again. "Rick. Richard. Richie. Ricky."

"A _very_ good name," Stanley answers. "It fits."

Mike yawns, and Stanley bursts into laughter.

"What is it _now_? What are you laughing at?" Mike knows that he sounds indignant but he can’t help it. 

"You're asleep. You shouldn't be yawning in your sleep."

"I can't help it," Mike complains. "I'm tired."

"Like I said, you're asleep," Stanley repeats, still chuckling. "You can't really be tired when you're already asleep, can you?"

"But I _am_ ," Mike whispers, his eyes stinging. "I didn't sleep so well the last couple of nights because of my hand…"

"Oh," the other voice says, not mocking anymore. "I see. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—"

"Can we just sit down for a bit?" Mike asks, wiping his eyes. "Like, just sit here for a bit and not talk?"

"Yeah, Rick," Stanley says softly. "Yeah, we can do that."

"Stanley," Mike whispers and balls his right hand into a fist. 

"Yeah?"

"Nothing."


	4. Chapter 4

"Rick? Richard, are you there? Ricky? Rick?"

"Yeah, I'm here," Mike answers, surprised. He can't remember a time when Stanley has been in here before him, not ever. "What is it?"

"Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something," Stanley says and Mike can hear him taking a deep breath. "We—"

"Yeah?" Mike inquires, a notion of panic rising in his throat. 

"We're moving. My family, I mean. To another town," Stanley says, and Mike's heart misses a beat. "Tomorrow."

"I—" Mike swallows. "I don't understand."

"My dad," Stanley begins to explain. "He found a job in—"

"Why are you telling me this?" Mike knows that he sounds upset and he inhales and exhales deeply a couple of times. "What—"

"It's just," Stanley says and his voice is very quiet all of a sudden. "It's just— I wanted you to know. In case we—"

Mike can feel his eyes begin to prickle and he balls his hands into fists.

"In case we don't see each other again."

"No."

"I—" Stanley begins but he interrupts himself, swallowing deeply. "Listen, Rick. I don't even know. Maybe it's not going to be a problem at all, maybe we—I don't understand any of this, I don't understand how this works, but—But I thought you should know. I wanted you to know."

"No," Mike whispers again and digs his nails into the balls of his hands. "But I didn't want to know that. I don’t!"

"I just," Stanley swallows again. "I just didn't want you to think that I just—I mean, should this really be the las—"

"Fine," Make says, making his voice sound as hard and as sharp as possible, as sharp as a boy scouts’ knife. "Fine. Move, then. Go ahead and move. I don't care."

"Ricky—"

"I said _I don't care_! I never wanted to see you again anyway, because you're stupid and boring and I was going to tell you that today anyway, so go ahead and _move_!" Mike is shouting by now but he can't calm down for the life of him. "Good riddance, if you ask me." He turns around but he can't move away from the other voice.

"Rick, wait. I wanted to tell you something else." Mike wonders how he has ever liked that stupid other voice.

"What?" He fumes. "What now?"

He can hear the grin in Stanley's voice and he suddenly wants to shove a fist into his mouth.

"I slept with someone. A girl. She's a bit older than I am, about two years, and—"

"You _what_?" Mike snaps around, turning towards Stanley's voice full force.

"I slept with a girl the other night and—"

"You." Mike takes a step towards Stanley but he can feel the other presence withdrawing. "Were." Another step – it doesn't bring him any closer either. "Not." Step. "Supposed." Step. "To Sleep." Step. "With Anyone." Step. "But me."

" _What?_ " Stanley sounds genuinely confused, but Mike doesn't even notice.

"I thought—" Mike slams his right fist into his left palm and stifles a cry. "Never mind. You go ahead and move and sleep with hundreds of other people. I don't care. I don't want to see you anymore anyway. Ever again. You are stupid. That girl is stupid. _This_ is stupid!"

"Lionheart—"

"No," Mike yells. "Go away. I don't want to see you anymore. _Go away_!"

"It's _not the same_!" Stanley yells back and he remains silent after that but he doesn't move away. “It’s not like _this_.”

Mike can feel him next to himself and he wishes he didn't. "I want to wake up." Mike squeezes his eyes shut tightly. "How do I wake up?"

"I don't know," Stanley whispers beside him.

*****

"So, Michael," Grammy says, carefully sipping on a hot, steaming cup of freshly made cocoa. There's another steaming mug sitting in front of Mike but he hasn't touched it yet. "What's on your mind?"

"Nothing," Mike says and turns the mug around in his hands. They're still red and cold from the short bike ride here. It's not winter anymore but it's still rather chilly outside. "Why?"

"Well, you haven't touched your cocoa yet, for once," she says. "And you haven't complained once about how I have more marshmallows than you…?"

"Hmmm," Mike hums and takes a tiny sip from his mug. "Have you ever…"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Have you ever slept with more than one person at the same time before?"

Grammy nearly chokes on her cocoa. She quickly sets the mug down, spilling some of its contents, and wipes her lips with the back of her hand. After clearing her throat a couple of times, she looks at Mike with a fond and curious smile on her face.

"May I ask what brought this question on?"

Mike shifts in his chair and averts his eyes. "Stanley."

"Your friend from the world inside your dreams."

"Yeah, him." Mike swallows and reaches for his mug again. "And he isn't my friend anymore."

"Oh," Grammy replies, a doubtful look in her eyes. "And why is that?"

Mike bites his lips before he answers. "He told me that he slept with someone else. A girl." He blows on the cocoa and takes another tiny sip. "I don't understand why he'd do that. He has me, doesn’t he? I mean, he _had_ me."

"Ah," Grammy says and reaches for Mike's hand. "I think that's something different, Michael."

"That's what _he_ said as well." Mike's voice rises but after a short pause he's almost whispering. "But it isn't, not really, is it?"

"Well," his grandmother says, leaning back in her chair. "There _are_ several kinds of sleeping with someone and they do all mean different things." 

"How?" Mike's eyes are as wide as saucers and he's chewing on his lower lip.

"Hmmm," Grammy reaches for her mug again and looks at Mike pensively. "There's that kind that means the person you're sleeping with is the one you love best in all the world. And because you do that, you want to share everything with them – even your sleep. You want to spend the rest of your life with them."

"Yeah," Mike murmurs. "Like Mum and Dad…"

"Exactly," Grammy nods. "And then there's what you and Stanley have. And then—"

"No," Mike interrupts. "No."

Grammy inclines her head a little bit, peering over her glasses, and keeps looking at Mike like that. "No?"

"No. I mean," Mike continues. "They're not two kinds. They're _the same_." He looks down into his mug and sighs.

"Oh," his grandmother whispers and her eyes widen ever so slightly.

"Yeah," Mike raises his head again and locks gazes with her. "I _do_ love him best in all the world, Grammy. I even love him more than Trevor, more than—. But—" He casts his eyes down again and bites his lips hard.

"Michael?" Grammy reaches for Mike's chin and lifts his head. "What is it, sweetheart?"

"But—But then he told me about that girl and how he was _moving_ tomorrow, today, I mean, and that we might not ever see each other again, _ever_. And now I can't share _anything_ with him anymore because I _know_ he'll never come back. And I can't spend the rest of my life with him now and… and…" Mike squeezes his eyes shut tightly and wipes them angrily.

"Michael," his grandmother soothes and reaches across the table to pull Mike's hands from his face. "Why do you think that? Why do you think he won't come back?"

"Because I _know_ he won't." Mike sounds very small.

"And how do you know that?"

"Because—" He swallows and bites his lips again. "Because—Oh Grammy, because I did the most horrible thing!"

"I doubt that," Grammy says and Mike looks up once more. "I seriously doubt that. I can't believe you could have done something that horrible."

"But I did," Mike whispers. "I _did_. I did it. To him. And now I'll never—"

"Why don't you tell me what you did, then?" Grammy fishes some marshmallows from her mug with a teaspoon and drops them into Mike's cocoa. "Maybe we can figure out a way to—"

"There _is_ no way!" Mike yells impatiently and his grandmother looks at him sternly over the rim of her glasses. "There _is_ no way," he repeats more calmly. "I told him to just go ahead and move. I said that he was stupid and—" Mike swallows thickly around the lump in his throat. "And I told him I never wanted to see him again."

"Oh," Grammy murmurs again. 

"Yeah," Mike whispers in reply. 

After a little pause, his grandmother speaks again. "So you love him, then?" 

"So very much!" Mike looks up at her and his eyes glisten with moisture. “More than anything.”

"Then,” Grammy says and reaches for his hands again. "Then you need to apologize to him, young man. For what you said."

"But what if he never comes back?"

"Michael," Grammy says, rising from her chair. "If you really love him that much, he _will_ come back."

"You think so?" A slight hint of hope creeps into Mike's voice as he rises as well. 

"Michael," Grammy smiles. "I know he will."

Mike nods and snuffles loudly. "Okay."

He turns towards the kitchen door but before he leaves, he swirls around once more. "Hey, Grammy," he says. "You said there were several kinds. But you only told me about two. What are the others?"

"Oh, of course," Grammy chuckles. "How could I forget?" She walks around the table and looks at Mike. "Well, there is a third kind. That's when two people get naked and—"

"Oh," Mike gasps, his eyes widening. " _Oh!_ Oh, you mean _sex_!"

"Yes," Grammy smiles. "I mean sex."

"Ewwwwwww!" Mike pulls a face. "I don't want to do _sex_ with Stanley. Or, like, _at all_." He shakes his head emphatically.

"Go home, Mike," Grammy gives him a hug and a kiss to the crown of his head and shoves him out of the door. "Give my love to your mum and dad – and don't forget to apologize to Stanley when you see him again!"

"I will," Mike grins and looks back once more. "I promise."

*****

"Hey." Mike's voice sounds small and a little hollow in the darkness. He's relieved to feel a familiar presence beside himself, but he's also very nervous.

"Ricky?" The other voice is timid and reserved. "Is that you?"

"Yeah," Mike answers. "Can't you feel that?" He can always feel Stanley when they're together like this. 

"I can," Stanley replies slowly. "I just wanted to make sure. I didn't know—" 

"I'm so sorry," Mike blurts out, cutting Stanley's line of speech. "I am so glad you came back and I'm so sorry! For what I said to you last time… Not for what I said about her, but for everything else. I'm so sorry and I was so scared you wouldn't come back…"

"It's okay," Stanley interrupts. "It's okay. I'm not mad. I'm glad you came back, too. I wasn’t sure either you would after—After what you said."

"It's been such a long time," Mike whispers. "So many weeks. I didn't think… I was so worried, I thought—I missed you so much!" The confession bursts from Mike's lips and he knows he's blushing, even in the darkness.

"You're my best friend, you know?" Mike says.

"I know," the other voice answers. "You're my best friend, too."

"Yeah? I _am_? _Really?_ " Mike knows that his voice might sound a bit overexcited but he doesn't care. He never would have thought that Stanley would feel that way about him and learning that he does makes him just so damn happy.

"Yeah, really. Of course you are. I told my dad about you."

"Oh," Mike whispers, awestruck. "The Miles Davis guy. Wow. What did he say?"

"He said I was one lucky son of a bitch."

Mike giggles and tries to nudge Stanley's shoulder. "He's right, you know?! And I told my Grammy about you." He falls silent and bites his lips. "I told her about you when we first met. And I told her about our—About what you told me last time and what I said to you. I told her that I don't want to do sex with you."

Stanley sputters and coughs. "Excuse me?"

"Well, I asked her about that sleeping with someone thing because you had said that it was different with the girl and I told her about you and that girl and she explained things to me and I told her that I didn't want to do that. What you did with that girl. Which is what you did, right? That sex thing? You didn't do—" Mike pauses and worries his bottom lip with his teeth. "This, did you? You didn't do this?" 

"No, I didn't. We didn't. I've only ever done this with you," the other voice answers. "I don't want to have sex with you either."

" _Have_ sex," Mike whispers, making a mental note how to use the phrase correctly. "Good."

Mike listens to the other voice humming to itself for a while before he asks: "So. Did you move?"

The other voice nods. "Yeah," he murmurs. "Yeah, we moved."

"And? How is the new place? How’s your new room?" Mike is really curious to learn everything about Stanley’s new life in the new town.

"The same, basically," Stanley answers, and there is a slightly bitter note to his words, Mike notices. "Nothing's changed. Nothing ever really does, doesn't it?"

"What would you have wanted to change, then?" Mike asks and tries to lay his hand on Stanley's arm. He sighs resignedly when – as always – he can't touch him.

"Dunno," Stanley answers. "Something. Anything."

"Do you miss your old friends?" Mike asks after a pause. 

"Yeah," Stanley admits, albeit a little grudgingly, and Mike is sure that the other voice is furrowing its brows. "A bit."

Mike nods and pictures his hand on Stanley's upper arm.

"But—" Stanley clears his throat and swallows audibly. "But not as much as Cole."

"So," Mike says carefully when Stanley doesn't speak again. "So you _do_ miss him."

"All the time," Stanley whispers. "I miss him every fucking day and I don't know how to stop." He sighs. "I wish I knew how to stop."

"I'm sorry," Mike mutters and closes his eyes. His chest hurts and he clenches his hands into tight little fists.

"I know," Stanley clears his throat again. "I just—It's been almost two years. I thought that—Never mind," he adds falls silent.

"Hmmm," Mike hums. He knows that he probably should say something but he has no idea what. 

"My mother made me see someone," Stanley says after a while. "A therapist or a grief counselor or whatever that guy was calling himself. After Cole had died. I went only twice, though. I can't—" 

Mike nods. He doesn't know what else to do.

"He was really good at maths," Stanley states and Mike bites his lips. "He wanted to be an architect when he grew up. He once—" Stanley falls silent.

"Hmmm," Mike makes again and lets his hand stroke down Stanley's arm in his imagination.

"He used to build those houses of cards. Huge ones, took him hours. I—We talked a lot when he did that. He could do that – build them and talk to me at the same time. Most of the time, anyway. Sometimes—" Stanley snuffles and clears his throat again. "Sometimes he'd stop in the middle of the word when he—and when he'd set that card into its place he'd smile and pick up the word right where he left it."

"Playing cards?" Mike asks and lets go of Stanley's arm.

"Yeah," Stanley continues, his speech gaining a little speed. "He owned so many decks, all the same kind. And he'd dare me to pull single cards from the houses when they were finished and not make them crash. I—I—He always said—I always stopped after three but he pulled out another three of even five sometimes and that thing would still stand. And once he—One day he built a whole house just for me and he said that he had built it for me to crash. Just like that. No pulling out cards before."

Stanley pauses for a moment, and Mike tries to picture that huge house made entirely from playing cards.

"I couldn't do it. That thing stood in his room for a week or so, everybody had to walk around it. I don't know what happened to it in the end, but one day it was just gone, the cards in neat stacks again. And I've never told anyone about it before."

"I don't know what I want to be when I grow up," Stanley says after another short pause. "I—"

"Oh," Mike says when Stanley doesn't speak any further. "I do." 

"Okay, hot shot," Stanley encourages and he sounds as if he's smiling ever so slightly. "Let's hear it, then!" Mike only wishes he was bumping his shoulder with his first. For some reason that seems like something Stanley would do in a situation like this.

"An astronaut!" Mike blurts out. "I'm going to be an astronaut. Or a vet. Or maybe even a knight. But I also thought about becoming a magician, you know. But I think I'm gonna be an astronaut."

"Astronaut." Stanley sounds impressed. "Going into space and all?" 

"Yeah," Mike beams. "Dou you think that's something I could be?"

"You," Stanley says, and Mike has a distinct feeling of being pointed at, "you can be anything you want."

"Then," Mike nods once, "then I'm going to be an astronaut."

He closes his eyes and smiles as he and the other voice, _Stanley’s_ voice, are slowly drifting apart.


	5. Chapter 5

**1992 – 1993: Harvey**

"What's that smell," the other voice, Ricky’s voice, asks as soon as Harvey opens his eyes to the darkness.

"Dunno," Harvey slurs, trying to find his balance. "What smell? Can't smell anything in here."

"Well, I can," Ricky states, and Harvey imagines him wrinkling his nose. "It stinks."

"Huh," Harvey says and shrugs. "You're imagining things. Since when—"

"I don't know," Rick sounds a little offended and Harvey feels as if he's slowly withdrawing from him. "But I can. And I'm _not_ imagining things."

"Yeah, whatever," Harvey mutters and drops down to sit on the floor. Or at least that's what he thinks he does. "I don't care. Sit. Don't sit. Whatever."

"You're not making any sense," the other voice scolds. "And it's _you_. It's _you_ that stinks."

"Shit," Harvey spits and draws his knees against his chest. "Why don't you leave me the fuck alone?"

"I—"

"I don't want to hear it, okay," Harvey interrupts and squeezes his eyes shut. "Just fuck off and leave me alone. You _never_ leave me alone, you're _always_ —You're _always_ in my hair and I've had _enough_. Enough of this, enough of _you_. Fuck off. Leave me alone. You stupid little fuck."

"Why do you say that?" Ricky's voice trembles and it even breaks at the end. "I thought we were—I thought you—we—But I thought—"

"Fuck," Harvey mutters and turns his head in the direction of the other voice. "Are you crying?"

"No," the other voice, the little one, Ricky’s voice, sniffles. "No, I'll just—I'm sorry. I didn't—I'll go now, okay? Leave you alone and all…"

"Shit, I'm sorry." Harvey tries to reach for the other voice and for a fraction of a second there he thinks he can feel something – a shirt? an arm? something? – but there's nothing between his fingers when he closes them into a fist. "Don't go. I didn't mean—Fuck, I didn't—"

"Please," he says quietly after a little while of silence. "Don't go."

"Why did you say that," a very tiny voice next to him asks and he exhales a breath he hadn't realized he's been holding. 

"How the fuck should I know," he shrugs.

"Don't say something like that again," the little voice sounds much more determined than before. "Don't talk to me like that again. Ever."

"Hmmm," Harvey huffs and snuffles. At some point of time Richard must have sat down with him, he thinks.

"Don't ever talk to me like that again," Rick repeats with more emphasize and forced courage behind his words. "It makes me sad as fuck," he quietly adds after a short pause.

"Don't say _fuck_ ," Harvey snaps without a moment hesitation. 

"Why not?" Rick inquires. "You've been saying it all the time today. _Fuck._ "

"Because I'm a fucking adult and you're just a nice little kid and you don't get to say _fuck_ , okay? For _fuck's_ sake."

They both hold their breath for a moment and then they burst into broad laughter. They laugh until they have to lie back and there are tears streaming from their eyes and whenever they calm down a little someone says "fuck" or "for fuck's sake" and it all starts anew. 

In a particularly hysterical fit of laughter, Harvey tries to roll over and grab the other voice in order to wrestle it to the ground, and the laughter dies on his lips when he can't. He wipes his eyes, clears his throat and sits up.

A few seconds later the other voice stops laughing as well, hiccupping a couple of times and sniffling through its nose. 

"So," Ricky asks when he's caught his breath. "What was all that about?"

Harvey inhales deeply and coughs. "I think I'm drunk." He pauses and nods to himself. "I got drunk and now I feel sick."

"What?" Rick sounds worried, Harvey thinks. "Why did you get drunk?"

"Because," Harvey murmurs and shrugs his shoulders. 

"You don't know?" 

"Yeah." Harvey's reply is nothing but a hoarse whisper. "But that's exactly why I got drunk. Because I don't want to know."

"But it didn't help," Rick asks slowly.

"No." Harvey clears his throat once more and closes his eyes. "No, it didn't."

"Well?" Ricky’s voice interrupts the silence after a minute or so.

"You annoying little fuck," Harvey presses through his teeth and sighs. But he breaks into a grin when Ricky giggles. "I was so angry and it hurt so much and I just wanted it to stop. I wanted it to stop hurting."

"Are you still angry?"

"Yeah," Harvey sighs. "And it still hurts. Like fuck."

"Oh," Ricky says, and Harvey nods.

"Yeah. Oh." 

"Can I help?"

"I don't think so, kiddo," Harvey mumbles. "I don't—"

"Is it with your dad again?" The annoying little fuck just won't shut up. "Or Cole?"

"No, not Cole. It's my dad. I think—" Harvey swallows thickly. "I think I need to talk to him. About something."

"You should!" The little voice sounds determined. "You definitely should! One should always talk to one's dad."

"Even if it's going to hurt him?" 

"Hmmm," the other voice ponders. "How much? Like fuck?"

"Worse," Harvey whispers. "Much worse."

"Oh," Ricky says again.

"Yeah."

"Stanley," the other voice inquires cautiously. "What did you do?"

Harvey just shakes his head and bites his lips.

"Did you tell him you didn't love him?" Rick asks into the silence. "'Cause if you did that he'll probably know that you lied to him, I mean, he'll know that you _do_ —A dad knows that, you know."

"Huh," Harvey exhales. "Did you say that to your dad, then?" He can feel Ricky nodding. He's probably biting his lips or something. "That you don't love him?"

"Yeah, once. When he wouldn't let me—I said I hated him and—" Ricky swallows and clears his throat. "He told me he knew it wasn't true when I apologized later. He said a dad knows that."

"Hmmm," Harvey mumbles noncommittally. "No, it's not that. I didn't do anything. Yet. Also, my head hurts."

"What is it then?" The little voice just won't shut up, Harvey thinks. Might as well tell him.

"My mum, she—" He shakes his head rapidly. "She hurt him very much but he doesn't know that yet."

"Hmmm?" Ricky seems confused. "How can you hurt someone and they don't know?"

"It's complicated. I don't know. And she keeps doing and doing it and it has been years and I thought she'd stop but—I know that there's a new—"

"Well, I'd want to know." 

"What?" 

"If someone hurt me. I'd want to know."

"Even if—"

"Yeah."

"So if I did this—" Harvey gestures between himself and where he thinks the other voice is sitting. "If I did _this_ with someone else, you'd want to know?"

He can hear Ricky take in a slow breath and then exhale shakily. "Yeah. I'd want to know."

"Why?"

"Because I'd want you to tell me."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Rick pauses for a moment before he speaks again. "Because—Because sometimes it's better to tell." He swallows. “But you wouldn’t, would you? Do this with someone else, I mean?”

Harvey desperately wants to run his hand over Ricky's head but when he tries, there's nothing. "You're very brave, Lionheart."

"Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Do this with someone else?"

Harvey shakes his head and reaches for the other voice. "No. No, I didn't. I'd never do that."

"Good," Ricky replies, sniffling. "Thank you."

"I'd never hurt you like that," Harvey whispers as they drift apart.

"I know."

*****

The bar is dusty and almost empty when Harvey walks in around 9 p.m. the following night. It's still pretty early for a place like that – it won't truly fill up before midnight. Two or three people are rearranging the little stage at the back end of the room, probably this night's band, and a sturdy guy in a plaid shirt is rolling a large, heavy keg from the back room towards the dispenser system behind the counter, groaning as he straightens his back.

The man he's looking for is sitting at the far end of the bar, a glass of scotch between his hands and an ashtray at his elbow. Harvey slowly walks towards him, running his fingers along the scraped, polished wood of the countertop.

When the man raises his head and looks at him, Harvey hesitates for one step and then continues walking, closing the distance between the two of them.

"Son," Gordon grins and reaches for his cigarettes. "What brings you here at this ungodly hour of the day?"

Harvey clears his throat and runs his fingers over his mouth. "I—"

"We ain't playin' tonight," his father says and lights a cigarette.

"I know," Harvey answers and bites his lips. "Dad, I need to talk to you."

"Oh shit," Gordon grins and takes a deep drag. He pulls out the stool next to the one he's sitting on and nods at Harvey. "Come on then, sit down."

Harvey climbs onto the rickety stool and holds up two fingers when the bartender looks over. He gestures back and forth between his father and himself and the bartender nods.

"What is it, son?" Gordon takes another drag from his cigarette and frowns. "Did you fuck up at college?"

"No, dad, I—"

"Fuck," another grin spreads over Gordon's face as he squeezes the cigarette butt into the ashtray. "You got someone knocked up."

Harvey shakes his head and picks up his glass immediately after the bartender has set their drinks down in front of them. He knocks his drink back in one go and shoves his glass towards the bartender, who quickly refills it and places it in front of Harvey again.

"Harvey?" Gordon tilts his head and Harvey closes his eyes. _Lionheart,_ he thinks. _I don't know if I can do this._

"Harvey," his father repeats. "What is it? What did you do? Spit it out, for god's sake."

"It's not—" Harvey clears his throat and takes a sip from his drink. When Gordon mirrors his action, he winces. "I didn't—It's not about me. It's about—" He takes another swig and closes his eyes for another second. "Mother. It's about mother." 

Gordon pales and reaches for Harvey's shoulder but drops his hand again before he touches him. "Is she all right?"

"Yeah," Harvey sighs. "She's not—" He takes another swig and bites his lips. "There is something you have to know."

"What—what is it, son?" Gordon's hands are trembling ever so slightly when he lights another cigarette.

"I don't know how to say it." Harvey mumbles and averts Gordon's gaze when his father tries to catch his eyes. "I just—"

He takes a deep breath, drains his glass and pushes it towards the bartender again.

"She's having an affair," he blurts out, cringing inwardly. He hadn’t meant to be so blunt about this. He runs his hand over his mouth and looks up. "I don't want to tell you who the guy is, but it's not the first time, not the first guy. For years and—and I promised her that wouldn't tell you but—"

Harvey looks away again and reaches for his freshly refilled glass. His head is beginning to swim. "But sometimes it's better to tell," he whispers, almost to himself, and takes another swig.

The cigarette hangs between Gordon's fingers and the burning end glows palely in the dimly lit room. After a couple of seconds, a piece of ash drops onto the wooden surface of the bar and Gordon wipes it away with his hand that is still holding on to the dying cigarette.

"I promised, dad," Harvey murmurs and looks up once more. "But then, today, this afternoon I—She—that's when I—That fucking—"

"Don't say that," Gordon interrupts sharply. "Don't talk about your mother that way."

"But—"

"She's still your mother," Gordon snaps and crushes the cigarette butt. "She's still—" He falls silent and drains his glass. Taking a shaky breath he closes his eyes. "Fuck." He runs his fingers through his hair and shakes his head. "Thank god I'm not playing tonight. I don't think I c—Does Marcus know?"

Harvey shakes his head. "I don't think so. She's always been more careful around him."

"Don't—Don't tell him, okay?"

"Dad," Harvey says quietly and places a careful hand on his father's arm. "I'm—"

"I know, son," Gordon mutters under his breath, nodding. "I know." He tenses under Harvey's touch, and Harvey takes his hand away again.

"What are you going to do?"

Gordon opens eyes again and looks at Harvey, ashen and wide-eyed. "What am I going to do?"

His echoed question knocks the air from Harvey's chest and he can feel his eyes prickle. "Dad…"

"Well," Gordon clears his throat and knocks back his fresh drink. "For one, I'm going to have another one of those."

Harvey nods and motions the barkeeper for a refill. They keep silent while he comes over with the bottle and pours them two more drinks. Once they're alone again, Gordon raises his glass a little and nods absentmindedly.

"Cheers." They both down their drinks and Gordon shudders. "I need you to leave me alone now, son."

"No, I—"

"Harvey, please." Gordon locks eyes with him and takes a deep breath. "I need to be alone for a little while."

Harvey rubs his palms over his thighs and bites his lips. "Are you going to—"

"Not today," Gordon says and picks up the pack of cigarettes again. "Not today."

"Okay," Harvey murmurs and reaches for his wallet but Gordon holds up a hand to stop him. 

"Drinks are on me."

Harvey nods and rises. They look at each other for some seconds in silence before Gordon gets off of his chair as well. When his feet touch the grounds he staggers, his knees threatening to give in, and he has to grab the bar for support. 

"Dad," Harvey whispers and takes a step towards his father who raises his hands in defense. 

"I'm—I'm okay, I—" He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and pulls Harvey into a clumsy embrace. "Fuck," he mutters against Harvey's shoulder. He lets go again and runs his fingers through his hair. "Fuck, Harvey…"

"I had to," Harvey mumbles and touches his father's arm lightly. "I—"

"I know," Gordon replies shakily. "Tha—" He swallows thickly, once, twice. "Fuck, sorry, son, I've got to—" He turns around and quickly makes his way through the bar towards the bathroom in the back. He stumbles twice, and Harvey bites his lips as his eyes follow him through the door.

Harvey pulls his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and pays for their drinks on his way out.


	6. Chapter 6

Even before he opens his eyes to the darkness, Harvey's legs are giving in and he falls down onto his knees with a strangled scream, clutching at his chest. He struggles for breath and something on his shoulders is weighing him down, is weighing his whole body down, trying to tear him to the ground and to crush him to death. Before he knows it, he's rocking back and forth, moaning in pain, and tears are streaming down his face and into his gasping mouth. He never wants to get up again, he knows he'll never be able to and he knows he has never hurt that much in all his life before. Not ever.

"Ricky," he whispers, stifling another moan. "Oh my god, Ricky…" He wants to run, to wake up, anything, but he can't. He knows he can't, and the pain and the suffocating sadness wrap around him like a shroud.

He reaches out, blindly, trying to touch the other presence – he knows Rick is there but he can't reach him, all he can feel is the devastating avalanche of pain and sadness and desperation and that all-encompassing feeling of being lost. 

Harvey scrambles in the direction of where he suspects the other presence and he can feel how Ricky just curls in on himself and tries to close off.

"I'm here, Rick," he breathes against the onslaught of pain. "I'm here, please…" His voice hitches and he feels as if he might throw up. "Please, Ricky, oh god, please—" He coughs and squeezes his eyes shut tightly, swallowing down the acid pooling in his mouth, crawling further towards the center from which those raw emotions radiate. "Let me hold you, please…"

Ricky curls even further in on himself which makes the pain only sharper. "Let me hold you, come on, come here, Ricky, I want to, please, I can help, oh god, please let me help. I—"

"No!"

Ricky's scream cuts through the air like a fiery sword. It hits Harvey square in the chest and he tumbles backwards, moaning.

"Go away!" Ricky is still screaming, and Harvey's ears threaten to shut down, his head is nearly exploding. "Leave me alone!"

"Ri—"

"I said _go_ , I—I don't want you here, I don't want you, leave me alone, just—Go away! Go away, go away, go…" Ricky's voice fades until it's nothing but a raw whisper and Harvey takes a deep breath, struggling to get any air into his burning lungs.

"Lionheart."

Ricky is weeping noisily now, his sobs interweaving with angry screams and pained groans. He's asking for his mother and his dad again and again and Harvey doesn't know what to do.

So he just waits and tries to breathe against the pain and the immeasurable grief. 

"Please, let me help," he whispers again after a long time when he thinks that maybe Richard has calmed down a bit, maybe the sobs have ceased at least a little.

"You can't." Ricky's words are barely audible and Harvey has to listen hard into the darkness to make out what the other voice is saying. "Nobody can."

"You don't know that," he replies and crawls a little closer again. "You—"

"I'm all alone."

Harvey reaches out again and he can hear Ricky take a deep, trembling breath. 

"He—help me. Please."

Harvey closes his eyes and pictures his arms around the other voice, a skinny little boy with brown hair maybe and blue eyes, and he holds him close. He holds him as close as he can and he whispers into his hair.

"I'm here, I'm here. Come on, feel my arms, come on… You're not alone, I'm here…"

Bit by bit Ricky calms down a little. He still sniffles and coughs, but his sobs ebb and at least the groaning and the screams quiet down. 

"Better?" Harvey asks after what seems to have been an eternity. He has to ask because there's no change in how he's feeling. He's still suffocated by the raw emotions emanating from his friend.

"A little," Ricky croaks, and Harvey imagines the boy snuggling up against his chest. "Thank you."

Harvey nods and keeps his eyes closed. "Can you feel my arms? That I'm holding you?"

"No," Ricky whispers after a short pause. "But it hurts a little less."

"Good," Harvey says and holds on to that image in his mind. "That is good… Let's just stay like this for a while then. Hmmm?"

Harvey pictures Ricky nodding and tightens his embrace. "Good."

"Ca—can we," Ricky hiccups. "Can we stay like this?"

"Yeah, we can," Harvey smiles into Ricky's hair. "That's what I just said—"

"No," the other voice interrupts. "I mean _in here_. Can we stay _in here_?"

"I'm not going anywhere," Harvey reassures.

"Not _ever_?"

"You know," Harvey ruffles Ricky's hair in his mind and places the gentlest of kisses onto the top of Ricky's head. "You know that I always come back."

"But I thought—" Rick falls silent again and sniffles.

"What?"

"I thought maybe we could stay here _forever_. Like this." He hiccups again and moans under his breath. "Like we never go back. Stay like this. Asleep."

"Oh," Harvey says and he can see how his arms let the little voice go. He tries to hold on to Ricky, focuses as hard as he can, but Ricky slowly slips from his hold. "No. No we can't."

"But—" Rick sounds calmer now but so very, very small. It makes Harvey's chest tighten how small the little voice sounds. "But it's so much better in here. Like, so much."

"You just said 'a little'," Harvey reaches for Ricky but in vain. "You said 'a little'…"

"That's a lot when everything hurts," the little voice murmurs and Harvey doesn't know what to reply to that. "When everything—I mean when nothing—This is so much better. I don't want to go back. Can we stay here like this, please? Forever?

"But you will wake up eventually, Ricky," Harvey argues. "You know that. We always wake up. We drift apart and—"

"No," the little voice sounds determined, knowing. "No, if you hold me like that again we won't. I won't."

"You said you didn't feel—"

"I lied," Ricky yells. He's sobbing again now and Harvey doesn't know how to talk him down. "I lied because I knew you'd let go if I—" He chokes and fights for air. "Why did you let go, Stan? Why did you let go of me? I can't go back, I can't! Everything hurts out there and nothing makes sense and I'm all alone and I—I—"

The sobbing fits get so strong that Ricky can't speak anymore, and Harvey desperately tries to picture him back in his arms again, making soothing sound and murmuring soft, calming words. "Ricky, shhhhhh, it's okay, come here, I'll hold you, come here, Lionheart, let me…"

"Forever?" Ricky asks after a while, his voice hoarse and trembling with the effort to be heard.

"No," Harvey says and takes a deep breath. "No, Ricky. We can't do that. We have to go back eventually."

"But why?" Ricky sobs. "Why? I don't want to! There is nothing out there. Nothing!"

"There are people out there who need me, Rick," Harvey explains. "My dad, my little brother – they need me. I can't—"

"But nobody needs me out there," Ricky mumbles. "There is nobody. I'm all alone."

"What happened, Lionheart?" Harvey whispers, but all Ricky keeps saying, over and over again, is "alone, all alone".

" _I_ need you," Harvey finally yells and he wishes he could grab the little voice by his shoulders and shake it awake. "Listen to me. Listen to me, _I_ need you out there!"

Ricky falls silent and Harvey just knows that his eyes have gone wide. He can feel that, can feel the break in Ricky's sorrow, the second-long break his brain takes to be puzzled. Harvey is grateful for that second because for that short moment, there is no pain.

"Ricky, _I_ need you out there," Harvey whispers into the silence. 

"But I don't—"

"I need you out there, safe and alive and—"

"But I don't know who you are. I—I—"

"Find me," Harvey interrupts and straightens his back. "You have to go back out there and look for me and _find_ me."

"How?"

"I don't know, but I know you will. One day you will."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I _do_. I know that one day you'll find me because I need you to. I _need_ you to find me."

He can hear the little voice swallow again and again, fighting against the pain and the tears. "Okay," Ricky finally whispers.

Harvey feels as if he can finally breathe again and he takes several greedy gulps of air, just in case. "Promise?"

Ricky doesn't say anything for the longest time. Harvey bites his tongue and waits and when he can't take it anymore he speaks again.

"Do you promise? You have to promise me that you will go back out there and find me."

"I promise," Ricky breathes after another endless silence. And, a moment later, with a slightly firmer voice, "I promise I will."

"Good," Harvey acknowledges and exhales. He feels bone tired all of a sudden and even though he knows that that is impossible in here, that's how he feels. 

"Will you sit with me for a little while now, Lionheart?" He coaxes and tries to make his voice sound soft and warm, like a blanket. "I could—I could tell you a story."

"I'd like that," Ricky whispers and Harvey's mind paints the picture of a tired little boy curling up in his arms and slipping into a restful healing sleep.

"Can I be in it?" Ricky asks timidly. "Can I be in your story?"

"Of course," Harvey smiles and imagines running his fingers through soft brown hair. "You are going to be in all of my stories."


	7. Chapter 7

The stunningly beautiful woman is leaning forward a little, her eyes closed and her lips slightly open. She’s listening attentively as the song comes to an end and the last chords sift through the dimly lit bar.

Once the music has faded completely she takes a deep breath and starts to clap slowly. After a couple of moments her eyes open and she turns around on her stool, looking at Harvey.

“That’s my dad,” he says, grinning, and nods towards the small stage in the back of the room. “The saxophone. Gordon Specter is the name.” 

The woman looks back to the stage and then back at Harvey. “Wow,” she says and Harvey’s grin broadens. 

“Yeah,” he throws the dish towel over his shoulder and wipes his hands against his apron-covered hips. “And what will it be for you, ma’am,” he asks, tilting his head.

“Scotch, please,” the woman says and takes another look at the stage. “Single malt, no ice and just a glass of tap water. He’s really good.”

“Yeah,” Harvey says again, casting a look at the band members talking to each other quietly. “He is.”

He pours the drink and sets it down on the bar in front of his customer. The bar is only half full and Harvey wishes there were more people to hear his father play. “You’ve never been here before.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“No,” she replies and takes a sip from her drink. “First time for everything. I just moved here from Boston. New job and all.”

“Good for you,” Harvey smiles and starts to draw a beer for another customer further down the bar. “What kind of job, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Law,” she says around the rim of her glass. “I’m a corporate lawyer, working for one of the top law firms in the city.” She sounds proud. And happy. “And what about you? Are you a musician as well?”

“No,” Harvey snorts. “I’m not—like him. I’m a business major at NYU. Planning on becoming a lawyer myself, actually. Mind if I asked you a question?”

Their following conversation lasts three more glasses of scotch, two of them on the house, and it ends with a business card of one Jessica Pearson of Gordon, Schmidt & Van Dyke in Harvey’s pocket and an offer to work in the firm’s mailroom during his term breaks on the table. 

Harvey doesn’t have to think twice even though he will miss the bar and the chance to hear his father play once a week.

He starts at Gordon, Schmidt & Van Dyke the following Monday, clad in a brand new suit he didn’t have the money to buy but managed to sweet talk the shop owner into letting him pay by installments. It may take him a year or longer to pay it off but he just knows it’s going to be worth it.

*****

“Hey, Specter!” Moe’s deep voice thunders through the bar and greets Harvey as soon as he enters the location. “How very kind of you to grace us with your presence tonight.”

Harvey smiles and walks over to the bar to shake his former boss’s hand. “I missed you, too, old man.”

“Nah, we didn’t miss you one bit,” Moe grunts and nods towards the young man standing next to him. “Besides, René here is much better with the ladies than you could ever dream to have been.”

“René’s gay,” Harvey shoots back, and the young man flashes the most radiant of smiles. 

“That I am,” he grins and he and Harvey fist bump. “But what can I say? The ladies love me.” He reaches up and retrieves a bottle from one of the shelves above the bar. “I’ll be able to buy that sewing machine I want from last week’s tips only.” 

René beams and Harvey gives him a stern look. “You know, of course, that you owe me a free suit, right? You’d never have gotten this job if I hadn’t quit last year.”

“You know what?” René says, pouring amber liquid into a glass. “I’ll tailor your wedding suit for free. And that’s a promise.”

“As if,” Harvey snorts and sits down on one of the stools. He signals for René to pour another drink and nods towards the stage. “For my dad.”

Tonight they are going to celebrate. Gordon has just finished his gig, the band is packing up their instruments and the drinks Harvey has ordered are waiting for them at the bar.

Gordon grins and carefully stores his saxophone case away on top of the foot rail, turning towards his son.

“So what’s the good news?” He raises his glass and toasts his son, whose grin is getting broader and broader, no matter how hard he tries to suppress it.

“I’m going to Harvard,” Harvey finally says and his face lights up even more. “I’m going to Harvard, Dad.”

“No shit,” Gordon guffaws and leans back a little. “And how did you swing that?” He doesn’t say it out loud but Harvey knows that his father is talking about money.

“Charmed a lady,” Harvey grins and raises his glass.

René just raises his eyebrows and runs a cleaning cloth over the metal rack underneath the beer taps and both Harvey and Gordon burst into a short laugh.

“No, really,” Harvey says after a couple of seconds. “But it’s an investment. She’s making an investment. In me. For the firm she works for.”

“Jessica,” Gordon says and Harvey nods. 

“Yeah, Jessica.” He raises his glass and his grin turns into a genuine smile. “To Jessica.”

“To Jessica,” Gordon echoes, and the sound their glasses make when they clink against each other is music in Harvey’s ears.

“To Jessica.”

*****

“I’d really like to tell Rick,” Harvey murmurs four or five drinks later. The bar is almost empty, even the late night crowd has begun to leave. Harvey’s head is swimming and it mostly feels pleasant but for a dull ache hidden at the very back of his consciousness. 

They haven’t talked about Rick ever since Harvey had told his father about him a couple of years ago but Gordon immediately knows what Harvey is talking about. Who.

“Then why don’t you?”

“Because,” Harvey says and brings his glass to his lips again. “I haven’t seen him in over a year. And I don’t know—“ He swallows thickly and shakes his head. “I don’t know if he’s still there. The last time I saw him he—“ He shakes his head again and his fingers tighten around his empty glass. “I don’t know if he’s still there.”

Gordon nods and reaches over the counter top for the bottle of scotch. He pours them two fresh drinks and sets the bottle down between them. “What happened? The last time you—What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Harvey says, staring at the polished wood of the counter top. “But I’ve never felt so much sadness. So much pain. I don’t know if anyone—I don’t know if he was able to make it through.”

“Son,” Gordon breaks the silence after a couple of moments. He places his hand on Harvey’s shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. “You would know if he hadn’t made it. You would know.”

“God, I hope so,” Harvey mutters and drains his glass in one long gulp. “Even if I never see him again I hope—“

He rises and pulls his father into a quick hug. “See you next week?”

“Yeah,” Gordon smiles and pats Harvey’s cheek. “Sure thing. Same place, same time.”

*****

“Stanley?”

Harvey hears the other voice before he’s fully asleep. At least it feels that way, and for a moment Harvey thinks he has just imagined it. He listens into the silence, straining his ears so hard his head starts to hurt.

“Stan?”

Just a whisper in the dark and Harvey still isn’t sure it’s real. He holds his breath, waiting. Listening.

“Is it you? Stanley? Stan?”

“Ricky,” Harvey whispers and squeezes his eyes shut tightly. 

“Where have you been?”

The little voice sounds hurt, offended, and there’s still a deep-rooted pain swinging in it, a pain that makes Harvey want to drop to his knees and beg for it to stop. He longs for the little voice from earlier, he longs for the innocence and the joy that used to be there and he can’t bear the thought that they are gone for good.

“I don’t know.” His own voice sounds hollow to him and he doesn’t really know what to say. “I wanted—I—I don’t know. I couldn’t get here,” he adds, his throat constricting around his words. “I couldn’t find you. I thought—“

“I missed you so much,” Ricky says and his voice trembles in the darkness. “I thought you had gone. Left.”

“No,” Harvey says and then he says it another time, just for good measure. “No. I haven’t. I’m here.” His chest aches and he longs to feel the little voice in his arms but again his hands grab nothing but thin air. 

“I wish I could hug you now,” Ricky says and he sound so incredibly defeated. “I hate this. This is stupid.”

Harvey hopes that Ricky knows that he feels the same. “I’m here,” he just says and he can feel Ricky nod. “I am glad you’re still around, kid,” he adds after a while. “I was worried.”

“You said I couldn’t,” Ricky replies and he sounds smaller than ever. “You said I had to stay. Out—out there. You said you needed me out there.”

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Harvey nods. “Yeah, I said that.”

“I haven’t found you yet,” Ricky says and his words sound doubtful, insecure. “Do you think I ever will?”

“I am sure,” Harvey answers, blinking into the darkness. “It’s the only thing in the world I’m a hundred percent sure of.”

“Okay,” the little voice whispers, and again, Harvey can feel Ricky nod. “Then I’ll wait. And I’ll keep looking for you. Even though Grammy says that’s not how it works. That looking doesn’t help. I will keep looking for you then.”

“You do that, kid,” Harvey says, smiling and picturing his hand ruffling Ricky’s hair. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay.” 

A little kid should not sound that earnest, Harvey thinks and his hands reach out once more. They drop again even before his arms are fully stretched.

“Listen,” he says and forces his lips into another smile. “I have good news.”

“Great,” the little voice says, and a hint of that former joy and excitement creeps into the words. “Tell me! I love good news!”

“Well,” Harvey says and he can’t help but feel a wave of pride wash over him. “I will be going to university soon. Become a lawyer.”

“Oh.” Ricky’s voice falls and Harvey wonders what he has done wrong. “But that sounds so boring. I always thought—“ 

Harvey can hear Ricky swallow and shuffle his feet.

“I always thought you would be a musician, like your dad.”

“Going to law school is not boring,” Harvey says, worrying his lower lips between his teeth. “I get to learn a lot of cool stuff and I get to meet a lot of cool people and—“

“Well, I’m not going to be a lawyer,” Mike says. “I—I thought I’d become a teacher, maybe. Or a doctor. That’s much more interesting, I think.”

“Being a lawyer is not boring at all.” Harvey can feel how the tiniest bit of annoyance rises up inside of him and he takes a deep breath. “I thought you’d be excited, is all. I thought you’d—There will be a lot of money, later,” he adds. “I’ll make so much money and we—I was thinking that we could do exciting stuff with it. Something really nice, I mean. I could buy—I could take you anywhere you’d want to go and—“

“Disneyland,” Ricky cuts in, faster than a bullet flies from a gun, and Harvey cringes. But of course, Ricky is still a kid. Of course he’d want to go to Disneyland. “I always wanted to go and we never—and now we don’t have the money, I guess, but I so want to go there. Could we—“

Harvey can hear how the little voice falls silent and how it takes a couple of deep, measured breaths, trying to reign in hope and excitement.

“Could we go there, perhaps? Would—Would there be enough money for that?”

“We can go anywhere you want to,” Harvey says and he can’t help but chuckle at the weird little sound Ricky makes in response. “I meant that. I promise.”

“Oh man,” Ricky breathes after a short moment of silence and Harvey smiles at the sound of that. “That is really good news. Maybe that lawyer thing isn’t so bad after all.”

“Yeah,” Harvey grins and nods. “Not bad at all.”

“Oh man, now I really wish I could hug you,” Ricky says and Harvey doesn’t reply for the longest time. Only when he can be sure that Ricky has not only faded into the distance but disappeared from here altogether, he whispers into the dark.

“Yeah, me too.”


	8. Chapter 8

**1998 – 2000: Mike**

“Dude.”

Mike is slouching on the sofa in Trevor’s room, drifting back and forth between being asleep and being awake. He startles and shoots up when Trevor flings a magazine into his lap.

“Have you seen that?”

“What?” Mike blinks sleepily, watching the magazine glide from his lap to the floor.

“Page thirteen,” Trevor grunts. “What a douche bag.”

Mike picks up the magazine, a copy of OK, and flips it open. 

_LIZ LAWYERS UP_

Quickly scanning the article and the pictures, Mike frowns.

“I can’t believe that woman is dating such a loser,” Trevor rants on, flopping down next to Mike. “I mean, just look at him. A fucking lawyer, for fuck’s sake. He looks like such an idiot!”

Trevor’s obsession with Elizabeth Hurley is legendary and his helpless outrage makes Mike grin.

“I don’t know,” he says and takes another look at the pictures, pretending to scrutinize them carefully. “I think he’s kinda cute.”

“Yeah, trust you to say that,” Trevor grumbles and snatches the magazine from Mike’s hands. “Birds of a feather and all. Fucking lawyers, man.” He tosses the magazine aside and grins at Mike. “So, on to less important things. How did it go with that chick from the party last night? Mandy? Candy?”

“Sandy,” Mike says pointedly and leans back, grinning. “And it went quite well. No thanks to you, if I might add. Your drunken stories about my alleged previous sexual adventures—It took me ages to get her to believe me that you lied. But finally she did and then—And then she took me home. To her room, I mean.”

“You didn’t. No way.” Trevor’s eyes go wide and he sits up. “You _didn’t_!”

“Yeah, we did.” To his horror, Mike can feel himself blush. 

“No shit, bro!” Trevor grins and holds his hand out to high-five. “Little Mikey Ross all growns-up!”

“Up top!” Mike’s palm meets Trevor’s, and Mike is surprised at how much that little slap stings.

“This calls for a proper celebration,” Trevor declares and rises. He retrieves two bottles of beer from the fridge in the corner and opens them with his lighter. He hands one to Mike and holds his one up.

“To Michael James Ross and his little Mikey. They finally scored.”

Mike just cringes and brings the bottle to his lips, taking a long swig.

“Okay, son,” Trevor grins and gives Mike’s shoulder a nudge. “Tell me exactly how it went. Spare no details.”

“Nope,” Mike shakes his head and takes another swallow of his beer. “’m not gonna kiss and tell. Absolutely not.”

“Ah, Mikey, m’boy,” Trevor teases and clinks his bottle against Mike’s. “I bet you didn’t last longer than a New York minute.”

“Oh, go fuck yourself, Trevor,” Mike says and blushes some more.

*****

Parts of them have gotten used to the infrequent nature of their encounters but other parts, Mike thinks, will never get used to that. He doesn’t know for sure how Stanley feels about that but those parts reluctant to accept that they can’t force a meeting, that they can’t accelerate time, hurt deep inside of Mike. They hurt all the time, always, and even though that pain is soothed every time they do meet, finally, finally, it never completely disappears.

It’s the same parts of him that worry constantly and the relief when he opens his eyes to the darkness and is able to feel Stanley’s presence is indescribable. 

_There you are,_ he thinks and it somehow feels as if Stanley might experience the same.

They have fallen into the habit of jumping directly into the middle of a conversation. They never know how much time they have, after all. They don’t waste whatever precious moments they have with empty _Hellos_ and _Whys_ and _Why-nots_. They delve right in and to Mike it always feels like a cool lake in the middle of the hottest summer day. Like a weight lifted from his shoulders, no, from his entire being.

“So,” he says and Stanley’s warm smile radiates across the invisible distance. A smile that says _Hello_ and _Welcome_ and _I missed you_ and _So much_ and _Tell me. Tell me everything._ “I did it. The sex thing, I mean.”

“Oh.”

Mike can basically hear Stanley raise his eyebrows and he chuckles at his surprise. He knows that his voice is deeper now than the last time they met. Over a year has passed and Mike weighs at least fifteen pounds more than he did back then.

“Yeah,” he grins. “It’s been a long time since we last saw each other. I grew up.”

“You grew up shit,” Stanley teases and Mike can hear the bewildered amusement in his words. “You’re still a kid.”

“I am not,” Mike grins and his hand itches with the urge to ball into a fist and bump Stanley’s arm. “I’m a grown man.”

“Shave much?”

“Asshole.”

“So,” Stanley says after a while when they’ve stopped giggling. “How was it?”

“Okay, I guess.” Mike shrugs and shoves his hands into his pockets. It’s the first time he remembers having pockets in here and he wonders at that for a moment. 

“Just okay?”

“Yeah.” Mike can feel himself blush. “It was—I don’t know. Weird, I think. Didn’t last too long.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Stanley replies and sounds very grown up. “That’s normal your first time. Or when it’s very good. It happens.”

“Yeah, I know,” Mike says, biting his lips. “It’s just—I don’t know. You said it could be fun. It—I didn’t have so much fun, really. I thought—“

“Do you—are you in love with the person you—“

Mike snorts. “I don’t even know her all that well, really. She’s pretty, though. I think.”

“Hmm.”

Stanley doesn’t say anything after that and Mike starts to kick at invisible stones with the tip of his shoe. He thinks that he hasn’t been barefoot in here in a long time. “Do I have to be? For it to be good?”

“No,” Stanley says. “But sometimes it helps if you are.”

“Huh,” Mike makes and falls silent again. He hates that he can’t see what Stanley is doing or what his face looks like right now. There’s something he wants to ask but he doesn’t know how. He catches the inside of his cheek between his teeth and begins to bite at it.

“Don’t do that,” Stanley’s voice shakes him from his thoughts.

“What?”

“You know what. Don’t.”

“Okay.” Mike takes a deep breath and balls his hands into tight fists. “Would you—“ He pauses and clears his throat. “I mean if we—if we could in here. Would you show me?” He prays that Stanley knows what he’s asking. 

“Rick. I—“

“But would you? I mean, I—I would want you to.”

“Ricky, you c—“

“No, really.” Mike’s tongue is faster than his thoughts now. “If—If we could, if we could touch in here… What would you want to do to me?”

The silence that follows weighs mountains. Mike’s cheeks are burning and there is the weirdest sensation pooling in his stomach. He tries to keep his breathing as even as possible but he fears he isn’t very successful.

“Nothing,” Stanley says after a long pause. “You’re a kid, Richard. You’re—“

“But we’ve been over that already. I’m not. You know I’m not. I’m almost eighteen and—“

“Rick. No.”

Stanley sounds final and Mike’s spirit falls. This can’t be it, he thinks. This can’t be it when I—Gathering what is left of his courage he clears his throat and speaks again.

“But you would want to, right? Would you want to?”

“I don’t know,” Stanley replies slowly and he sounds as if he’s frowning. “I—Maybe. I—I don’t know.”

_I look quite passable,_ Mike wants to say, _and you might even like me if you look at me the right way. If you could just see me—I could be—I want to know. I just want to know—_

But before he can say any of that, Stanley is gone.

_Just think about it,_ he thinks, just for a while, sending his thoughts into the vast darkness surrounding him like flying arrows. _Tell me that you’ll at least think about it, please._

*****

 _My eyes are blue,_ Mike writes down on a lined piece of paper at the desk in his room the next evening. And my hair is brown. Or dark blond, at least in the summer. I am rather small for my age but I have grown a couple of inches during the last few months. I do shave but not very often. My lips—He pauses and brings his fingers to his mouth, closing his eyes. _They are soft and warm when I touch them and when I roll them between my teeth they turn a dark shade of pink. My skin is light and I don’t tan a lot and my nipples—_

He lays down the pen and shakes his head, staring at the through the window above his desk. He doesn’t know how long he has been sitting there when a knock on his door pulls him from his thoughts.

“Come in,” he calls and his grandmother peeks through the half-opened door. 

“Would you like to join me for a cup of cocoa?” Edith Ross asks and Mike nods. 

“Give me a minute, ‘kay? I just want to finish this.”

“Of course, Michael. I won’t be going anywhere.”

The door closes behind her and Mike casts down his eyes. His gaze moves over the lines he has written but they don’t see anything. With a heavy sigh he tears the sheet from the pad, scrunches it up and tosses it into the bin next to his desk.

He finds his grandmother sitting at the kitchen table, two steaming mugs of cocoa in front of her. Once he has sat down, she hands him one and winks. 

“You have more marshmallows than I this time, in case you were wondering.”

A small grin spreads on his face as he takes his mug from her hands. “Thanks, Grammy.” He takes a careful sip and sets the mug down, his eyes never leaving the melting marshmallows on top.

“You’ve been awfully quiet these past few days,” Edith remarks and blows on her cocoa.

“Yeah,” Mike sighs and shifts in his chair. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Edith carefully reaches across the table and covers Mike’s hand with her own. “What’s on your mind, Michael?”

“I’ve—“ Just briefly looking up and meeting his grandmother’s eyes, Mike blushes. He averts his eyes and bites his lips. “A couple of days ago I—this girl and I—“

Before Edith’s hand withdraws it squeezes Mike’s gently and Mike takes a deep breath.

“We were careful, Grammy, don’t worry. And we—I mean, it wasn’t bad and she told me she liked it and that she had fun but—And she had done it before but I hadn’t and—Oh shit, I can’t believe I’m telling you all this.”

Mike looks up and finds his grandmother smiling at him. When he breaks eye contact again, his cheeks burn.

“It wasn’t—I—I—“

“It wasn’t what you had hoped for,” Edith quietly finishes the thought Mike can’t complete. 

“No,” he whispers, shaking his head. “No, it wasn’t.”

Grammy nods and takes another sip from her cocoa. “I’m sorry, Michael.”

“It’s okay.” Mike hates how small he sounds but the cocoa tastes good and sitting here with her makes him feel warm and safe despite his embarrassment. “I know that it can take some time until—Until you find the right person.”

One amazing thing about Grammy is that she knows exactly when to remain silent. This is one of those moments and Mike will be eternally grateful that she doesn’t say anything.

Drawing in a shaky breath, he steadies himself.

“I know this sounds crazy,” he murmurs, clutching the almost empty mug in his hands. “Maybe even insane, but there is this one person I would like to find out how—with whom I’d want—it. Like, so much?”

Grammy just nods and closes her eyes for a second than she leans forward a little and reaches for Mike’s hand again.

“Now you listen to me, Michael. This is not crazy, not one bit.” 

Mike looks up and frowns, confused at the determination in his grandmother’s voice. For a moment he thinks he wants to pull his hand away but that moment passes, so when Grammy’s hold on it tightens he can feel a little of the tension leave his body. And his mind.

“How—“

“Did you ever wonder why I never questioned you when you told me about him before?”

Mike nods and Edith smiles.

“Because I know, Michael. I _know_.”

“Grandpa,” Mike whispers and for a fraction of a second something flares up in Edith’s eyes, something that makes Mike’s heart constrict and his throat burn.

“You know, when people say that sometimes, when you meet someone, it’s like you’ve known them since the day you were born?”

A shiver runs through Mike’s body and Grammy’s fingers around his hand tighten a little more. She nods again and her smile widens.

“Well, sometimes you do.”

“You mean—“

“Yes, Michael. I do.”

“Did you—“ Mike bites his lips so hard he tastes blood. Part of him doesn’t want to know but the other, the larger part knows that he _has_ to. “Did you know, when you met him _here_ —Did you know it was him?”

“In a way I did, yes, and so did he,” she says slowly. “But in another way we didn’t. And it took us some time to, let’s say, recognize and finally _acknowledge_ each other as who we were. But once we did…”

“Did you…” Mike’s voice trails off and he furrows his brow. He’s not sure if he should ask this, if he really wants to know. “When you meet… _them_ here, in this world, when you find them – what about the other place? In _there_? I mean, do you ever—“

“I never did, Michael,” Grammy says and the sadness in her voice is suffocating. “Not while he as alive anyway. But I hear it’s different for everyone. It can be different for you and Stanley.”

“What if,” Mike says and runs his free hand over his mouth. “What if I never find him?”

“Well, if you ask me,” Grammy says and rises. She walks over to where he’s sitting and places a gentle kiss on the crown of his head. The she picks up her and Mike’s mug and carries them across the kitchen to the sink. “You already have.”

She carefully sets the mugs down and takes a deep breath before she turns around. “At least in your world, _in there_. Good night, Michael. Sleep well.”

Mike stares after her for a long time after she has left the kitchen. The old, worn-out linoleum echoes with her slow, already slightly labored steps until Mike goes to bed and even after that.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter in which the Trevor/Mike happens. If you don't want to read that you can technically skip it and move right on to the next chapter. I'd advise that you don't though, because this is pretty harmless and because I quite like what I came up with here... ;)

“No,” Trevor grabs Mike’s wrist impatiently and yanks his hand away from his face. “No, you’ve gotta hold it like this.” He takes the joint from Mike’s fingers and demonstrates how it should be held. He holds his hand up right in front of Mike’s eyes and grins. “And whatever you do, don’t flick off the ash.” His grin broadens when he hands the joint back to Mike. “Take a deep drag and hold it in for as long as you can.”

Mike’s heart is beating wildly as he brings the joint to his lips. The paper is sticky and for a moment he’s afraid that he’s going to tear it, that a tiny piece might stick to his lip and stay there without him even noticing. Trevor would have a field day with that.

But the paper holds, and Mike manages to hold the smoke in for far longer than he expected to before he has to exhale again. 

He coughs.

“Cheers,” Trevor says, grinning. “It’s not going to be as good as it can be, since it’s your first time and all,” he explains, reaching for the joint Mike is still staring at. “The full effect—“ He takes a long and deep drag and holds it, holds it, holds it. Closing his eyes, he exhales slowly. Not one cough. “You’ll have to do it a couple of times before you are able to feel the full effect. But this is good stuff. I got it from Chris in Calculus.”

Trevor hands him the joint again. This time, Mike manages to hold the smoke in even longer and he doesn’t cough that much when he lets it stream out again. 

“Baby steps,” Trevor grins and leans back spreading his arms out on the backrest of the sofa. “Rookie.”

“Am not,” Mike says, frowning. “So don’t call me that. See? I can do it perfectly.” He demonstrates his new-won expertise by taking another drag and releasing the smoke from his lungs after a while without so much as clearing his throat. For a moment, his head spins.

“Careful.”

Trevor takes the joint from Mike’s hand once more and scoots down until his head comes to rest on the top of the couch’s backrest. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply. 

Mike watches how Trevor relaxes and then, long moments later, how the smoke slowly and gradually streams out through his slightly open lips.

“Hmmmm,” Trevor hums. “This _is_ good shit.” Without opening his eyes he holds the joint out to Mike. “Right, dude?”

“Yeah.”

Even though Mike is feeling a little queasy he takes another drag and leans back as well. He closes his eyes and listens to the blood rushing inside of his ears. It’s calming, somehow, and slowly but surely his fingertips feel less cold. “Right. Good shit.”

The silence stretches nicely between them, and Mike isn’t missing a thing. Trevor’s right there, he knows that, and in the back of his mind he registers that the music’s still playing in the background and that’s nice, too, but it doesn’t matter all that much. He hums low in his throat before he brings the joint back to his mouth and draws on it again. 

“ _Really_ good shit, man.”

Next to him, Trevor starts to chuckle and after a moment or two it turns into a full-on giggle. Mike opens his eyes and watches Trevor, eyes still closed, draw up his knees and shake his head, giggling like a mad person.

“What?”

Trevor shakes his head again, and in a way that’s one of the funniest things Mike has ever seen, Trevor shaking his head like that and giggling like a mad person. It’s infectious, really, and Mike can’t help but join in.

“What?”

He sits up and slaps Trevor’s arm with the back of his hand.

“ _What_ , man?”

“You’re stoned.”

Trevor opens his eyes and looks directly into Mike’s.

“Mikey Ross is stoned.”

“I’m not stoned,” Mike giggles, slapping Trevor again. “And I’m not Mikey.”

“Yeah, you are.” Trevor blinks and holds out his hand. “No more pot for you, Mikey. Give me that.”

“No way.”

Mike quickly turns to the side and drags on the joint again and while he’s holding the smoke inside of his lungs he leans over to the right, trying to save the joint from Trevor’s mad, grabby hands. 

Trevor reaches out further and climbs almost half on top of Mike which makes it difficult for him not to exhale too quickly. 

A piece of the ash detaches itself from the stem and falls onto Mike’s thigh, softly, almost like snow.

Mike watches it lying there on his jeans, trying to decide if it’s still glowing or if it’s not, if it’s hot and if it might be burning him, if he should do something, but all he can do is burst into a fit of giggles again.

“What did I tell you?”

Trevor stops reaching for the joint and just looks at Mike’s leg.

“Look at what you did.” 

When Mike sits back up, Trevor gently plucks the joint from Mike’s fingers and places it into the ashtray on the coffee table. 

“Here, let me…” Trevor’s voice trails off and he reaches out.

Mike watches how Trevor’s hand comes to rest on his thigh and how – as if in slow motion – Trevor moves it downwards, brushing the ash off of his jeans. He does it again and then again a third time, just for good measure, Mike thinks, and he watches how the dark gray stain of the pulverized ash turns lighter and lighter with each stroke of Trevor’s hand. It feels good, really, to have his thigh stroked like that, really good, and he can’t believe that he isn’t more embarrassed that he’s getting hard inside of his trousers. He bites his lips. 

“Hmmm,” Trevor hums and almost stills his hand. Almost. Just his thumb is moving now, and Mike can’t tear his eyes away from it. “Mikey…”

A huff escapes Mike’s lips and his hips give a little jerk, but just a very little one and Mike doesn’t think Trevor has noticed. He’s almost fully erect already and the pulsing in his cock feels really, really good. It’s a slightly dull sensation and it spreads through his whole body until even his fingertips and his lips are resonating with it. 

Trevor curls his hand into a loose fist and moves it upwards just a little bit until his knuckles brush against the bulge in Mike’s jeans. This time, it’s not just a huff that falls from Mike’s mouth, it’s a moan, an honest-to-god moan, and there is no way that Trevor hasn’t heard.

“Hmmmmm,” Trevor hums again and tilts his head. 

Mike knows he’s supposed to look up but he still can’t tear his eyes away from Trevor’s hand nestled there in his lap. He can see how his cock twitches against Trevor’s knuckles and he bites his lips to stifle another moan. This feels incredibly good with his cheeks burning like that, but he’s sure that something terrible is going to happen when he looks up. So he doesn’t.

“Hmmm, Mikey…”

Trevor’s voice is soft and low and his breath smells of pot and some sticky, sugary soda. 

“Hmmm…”

The brushes of Trevor’s knuckles become more intentional and there is no denying that this is exactly what this is. Trevor is stroking his dick. Trevor is making him hard in his pants and it’s the best he’s ever felt if he’s perfectly honest. He’s probably going to come sooner or later, and—

The realization that he’s getting closer and closer hits Mike like a baseball in the gut. His stomach tightens and his insides lurch and his lashes are in the way when he finally lifts his head a bit, when he finally dares to look at Trevor’s face. He sees it through the veil of his lashes, and Trevor’s lashes are the first thing he sees.

They are forming dark circles on Trevor’s flushed cheeks and Trevor’s lips are as pink as his own feel, probably because he’s been biting them as well. He’s beautiful and his lips are glistening now because he’s licked them, and suddenly Mike knows what’s going to happen next.

“Oh,” is all he can say, and when Trevor looks up and their eyes meet Mike’s hips jerk against Trevor’s touch and there is no mistake whatsoever anymore about what is going on. “I’m…”

Trevor bites his lips again but only very briefly and his eyes dart back to Mike’s crotch one last time before he leans in and their lips touch.


	10. Chapter 10

“So, we made out.”

Mike has been sitting on this for far too long, so he just blurts it out when Stanley falls silent for a moment in the middle of one of his rants about baseball. He hasn’t meant to be so blunt about it but in the end it is what it is, so why beat around the bush.

“What?”

“He and I,” Mike clarifies and he doesn’t really care too much for that slight tremble in his voice, that minute hesitance. “We got stoned and we made out.”

“You and who?” 

“Bit slow on the uptake today, aren’t we?” Mike doesn’t want to say it out loud, not here, not to him. “Connor.” That’s the name they decided to use years ago, being tired of using “my friend” and “your friend” for too many different people. Connor, Lucas or Luke, the most important ones, and more recently Cranston, Anna, Charlie and Jess. Those are the carefully chosen names but there are others as well, lots of others, names they just come up with as they talk. Connor, however, is a name Stanley knows.

“You got stoned?” Stanley sounds more impatient than anything else, and for some reason Mike is incredibly glad for that.

“Yeah, we got stoned. And then he made me come.”

“I see.”

“Yeah.”

Mike laughs nervously. It sounds so stupid when you say it out loud.

“In my pants.”

“Did you—“

“No.” Mike knows what Stanley wants to ask and he really, really doesn’t want him to. “No, we didn’t.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

When Stanley doesn’t say anything for the longest time, Mike speaks again.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why ‘good’?”

“What?”

“You just said ‘good’ when I told you that we didn’t…”

“Because he’s not supposed to do that with you.”

Mike frowns. He’s never thought Stanley would be so weird about this. Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut.

“Says who?”

“Says I.”

“It’s none of your goddamn business, okay?” Mike can feel anger rising up inside him and reaching the tipping point in next to no time. “This is my life and if I want to make out with boys or fuck boys I ca—“

“It’s not about that,” Stanley interrupts him and he sounds pretty out of his depths right now. “God, how can you think that I…” He falls silent, and Mike bites his lips. He’s not going to say anything, he’s not.

“What is it about then?”

“I am.”

Mike can’t believe what he’s just heard. Stanley’s voice, quiet and a little tentative, saying just two short words, two words that make Mike’s insides twist and turn. He has to make sure.

“You…”

“It’s supposed to be me.”

“Oh.”

Mike’s heart is beating incredibly wildly all of a sudden and he feels dizzy with the pace of it. 

“You mean—“

“Yes.”

“Wow.”

Mike needs a minute, he really needs a minute and he really should take one, but it feels as if he’s responsible for not allowing any more silence to pass between them.

“You do.”

“Yes.”

“You want to. With me.”

“Yes.”

“Really.”

The distinct sensation of a nod in the dark.

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“But you said—“

Stanley takes a deep breath before he speaks again.

“Ever since you brought it up, I… I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About you. Took me a while to figure out what that meant. And then you never showed up again, so…”

“Oh, wow.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“I know. It’s just… I mean – _really_?”

Stanley nods again, and something twists in Mike’s stomach. He swallows.

“Okay,” he says, trying to sound more confident and far less excited than he feels. “Tell me. Tell me about it.”

“I want… I’m going to be your first.”

“Wow.”

Mike is glad that Stanley lets it slide, lets him get away with saying that for the third time. He’s glad that Stanley lets him ponder the enormity of it for a while.

“I’m going to be the only one who gets to do that with you.”

There’s nothing that Mike wants more, nothing. So he just reaches out, stretches his arm and reaches for Stanley’s voice. His fingertips prickle with the need to touch.

“I…”

Stanley’s voice takes on a slightly hoarse, haunted note and Mike can feel himself begin to get hard. He tries to adjust himself but the mere thought of his fingers touching his cock right now makes him gasp.

“I’m going to touch you everywhere. Everywhere. Inside and out. And I’m going to make you come. And I’m going to come deep inside of you.”

All Mike can do is moan and bite his lips. It seems a bit as if that is all he does in here but at the moment he couldn’t care less. He wants this, he has waited so long for this and he wants it just so, so much.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Stanley murmurs, and Mike’s heart skips a beat. “I shouldn’t—“

“Yes, you should,” Mike cuts in and he’s surprised at how husky his own voice sounds. “Tell me. Please.”

“My hands,” Stanley swallows thickly. “My hands would touch you everywhere…”

Mike closes his eyes and for a moment he can feel the idea of fingers ghosting over the back of his hand.

“Your hand, your arm, your lips, your throat.”

Moaning with the building pleasure, Mike tilts his head back, exposes his throat to Stanley’s invisible caress. This feels like nothing he’s ever felt before.

“I take your clothes off, bit by bit, until you’re naked with me. Then I can touch you there as well. On your chest, and then I can run my hands down your sides, your stomach and then over the insides of your thighs…”

“Oh god…” Mike is almost fully erect by now and he can feel Stanley’s hands, he can feel them everywhere Stanley’s voice leads them, circling around his nipples, cupping his ass cheeks, resting at the small of his back. 

They part his cheeks, carefully, oh so carefully, when he lies back and spreads his legs, and they enter him gently, teasingly, until he’s loose and open and begging for more.

“Kiss me,” he begs, his whole body humming with need. “I want to kiss you… Please, kiss me…”

“Later,” Stanley promises, and Mike draws his lips between his teeth to keep them from asking.

He’s leaking, he can feel that, and Stanley’s fingers wrap around his cock and sweep over his slit, spreading pre-come over his crown. 

“I’m close,” he whispers and arches his back. “I want…”

And then Stanley is moving inside of him and it’s so good, so intimate that Mike thinks he’s going to die. He doesn’t know if he says that out loud, but there’s a stab deep inside of his stomach when Stanley thrusts into him again.

“This is…” Mike thinks he’s probably babbling but he just can’t keep the words in anymore. “Oh god, this… I… fuck, you…”

Stanley’s voice entwines with his then, encouraging him, urging them on, and just as his mouth forms the words, those words, it pushes him over the edge and—

—Mike snaps awake in his room, in his bed, alone and with sticky sheets. The silence of this darkness is deafening, the emptiness inside of him threatens to drown everything else, and while the waves of his climax still pulse through him, tears begin to roll down his cheeks. 

He knows with a certainty that takes his breath away for a moment and for many more long moments after that that he is not going to see Stanley again, or if he is then not in a long, long time.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one, but the next one is right around the corner... :D

**2000: Harvey**

“I slept with Donna.” 

“What?”

Gordon, who’s been sitting there with his head hanging between his shoulders and his elbows propped up on his knees just a second before, taking deep, greedy breaths, looks up and straightens his back. The baseball bat is leaning against the bench right next to him and Harvey is still toying with the glove and the ball, letting the ball drop from one hand into the other.

“Yeah,” he says, and Gordon scratches his chin. “I slept with Donna.”

“Why?”

“Because I quit the DA’s office. And I thought it would be fun.”

“Very clever, son,” Gordon says and looks Harvey straight in the eye for a moment before he turns his head again to stare straight ahead. “To hide the Cameron news with the Donna news.”

“Dad, I didn’t hide—“

“Because of the things we talked about the last time you came to see me here?” Gordon asks, and Harvey nods.

“Yeah. I just couldn’t… I couldn’t. You were right. I’d have done it again and I didn’t want that. I never wanted that.”

“Hmmhmm,” Gordon nods and holds up his hand for Harvey to throw him the ball. “And was it?”

“Was it what?”

A huge grin spreads over Gordon’s face. “Fun.”

“I’m starting at the firm next week,” Harvey says and leans back against the table, spreading his arms. “Third year associate.”

Nodding, Gordon throws the ball up in the air and catches it again with a twist of his wrist. 

“It’s a good offer, a better one than anyone else got.”

Harvey pulls his lower lip between his teeth and worries it. 

“She’s my best friend. I’m taking her with me. To the firm.”

“So it was.”

“Yeah,” Harvey says, chuckling mirthlessly. “It was. _Fun_.” He falls silent.

Gordon keeps throwing and catching the ball, quietly humming to himself.

The glove grows heavy in his hand so Harvey turns around lays it down on the table behind him. He sighs.

“She’s not the one, dad. She just isn’t—“ _Him_ , he thinks, _she isn’t him_.

“I know, son,” Gordon says after a short pause. “Just like the others weren’t.”

“Yeah. Just like that.”

It’s good to know that there is someone who knows. Someone who understands. Someone who doesn’t ask any questions when there are no answers, someone who just sits there next to him, calm and comforting, smelling of sweat and beer and music and just being there with him when no one else is.

“I miss him, dad.”

“I know, Harvey,” Gordon says. “I know.”

*****

From time to time, Harvey finds himself in here, but he’s always, always alone. Once or maybe twice he thinks he can sense another presence, but when he calls out, there is no answer.

He is alone.

After a couple of years he gives up calling or talking altogether. Whenever he finds himself in here, he just waits. He stands there in the dark and waits, but Ricky never shows up.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another shorty, but the next one is up already... :D

**2005: Mike**

Mike has been feeling weird all day, there’s something hovering at the back of his mind that he can’t quite put his finger on. It makes him feel shifty and slightly uneasy, so he reaches for everything that keeps him occupied and, if possible, distracted. 

So, when Trevor calls him before he leaves for work and suggests meeting for lunch he says yes, even though he’s painfully behind on his hours at Cyclehawks already.

They decide on the cart a block away from Cyclehawks’ headquarters because Trevor has some business to do in that area and because Mike recons that this way he might avoid falling even further behind on his hours. He’s still a little hung-over from their evening out with Jenny and Nikki anyway.

The fries are cold and the shawarma tastes stale, but Mike picks at his food nevertheless. Trevor seems to be in good spirits, it probably has something to do with that Jenny girl, so Mike plays along and engages in a game of “friendly banter over a lady” and pretends to grudgingly settle for Nikki, even though he as zero interest in neither of the two.

“Look here at this clown,” Trevor grins, subtly shaking his head.

A man in the gray suit quickly walks past them, one hand in his pocket, a manila envelope in the other hand. His steps are sure and determined, and Mike catches a whiff of his cologne. It smells divine.

“Walks like he’s got a rod up his ass.” The easiest thing to hide something from Trevor is to play along with his line of thought.

“Nice haircut, guy.” 

The man doesn’t turn around even though Trevor has raised his voice to a level he must have heard. Mike has to give him credit for that.

“Man, if I ever look like that, shoot me.” He stuffs another potato chip in his mouth and shakes his head. He can’t stop staring after that man so he doesn’t even notice that Trevor steals what is left of his food directly from the paper wrapping in his hand. 

When they’ve finished eating their lunch, Trevor offers him another joint, but this time Mike declines. He needs to check in at headquarters as soon as possible – he’s in desperate need of both money and exercise and if he doesn’t get up on his bike and on a tour to at least Brooklyn, if possible, soon, he’s going to flip.

For the rest of the day he takes on tour after tour. He’s exhausted when he returns home in the evening, so all he does is stuff some cheese balls into his mouth, washes them down with half a bottle of beer and stumbles into bed.

He’s bone-tired and his mind is finally empty.

*****

He hasn’t been here in such a long time that he has trouble remembering the place at first. It’s as pitch dark as always and there’s the presence again, the presence without a voice.

Stanley.

Mike can feel him clearly, just like always. He’s there, right next to him, silent, waiting.

Mike sighs. The few times he’s come here after… after it, Stanley has always been here as well. The first two or three times he’d still had a voice, had still called for him, said his name over and over.

Rick. Ricky. Richard. Lionheart – and his voice had sounded just like it always had. Warm. Safe. Like home.

In the beginning, Mike has been angry, mad even. He has wanted to yell, to scream for Stanley to leave again, to fucking let him go. But he’s never said anything, he’s always kept his silence. He’s listened to Stanley talk, tell him inane little things at first, then, just once, saying something that might have been considered important, and then he’s listened to him be quiet. Silent.

He doesn’t know how long he’ll have to do it this time, they never know how long they have after all and that hasn’t changed either. So he steels himself. He takes a deep, silent breath and closes his eyes. This is going to be hard, he can feel that. 

Stanley just waits there right next to him and the minutes, maybe even hours pass by, Mike can’t be sure. 

He shifts. The memory of fingers ghosts over his skin, of touch and caress, and he shakes his head. He doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want this anymore. _Go away_ , he thinks. _Let me go._

“No,” Stanley says, firm and decisive, and Mike’s eyes snap open. “I won’t. I’ll always be here.”

Mike exhales shakily. He hasn’t needed it spelled out like that.

“I know.”

“Good.”

He can hear Stanley breathing next to him and it’s deafening. He presses his palms against his ears and bites his lips, but to no avail.

“Why did you leave?”

“What? Why did I—“

“After we… You know. Just when I was… You just shoved me away, just like that, and you were gone.”

“I didn’t. I don’t know why I had to go. I…”

“I loved you, you know?” Mike says. He thought it would hurt more to say it. 

“I know.”

“We never kissed. Why did we never kiss?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Mike doesn’t know what to say anymore. It feels as everything has been said, as if there are no more words left in the world or at least not between them. So he just sits back, closes his eyes and tries to imagine Stanley’s lips on his.

He fails.


	13. Chapter 13

**2005: Harvey**

“Harvey! So good to see you! So, what can I do for you this fine day?”

The chimes’ ring still echoes through the room and the door hasn’t even completely closed behind him, but René is already at his side.

The dim light of René’s shop is like medicine for his eyes and he finally dares to take off the sunglasses that have shielded his eyes from the harsh New York sun. 

“You promised me a suit.”

“What?” René lets go of Harvey’s hand and takes a step backwards. He tilts his head and furrows his brow. “I did what?”

“Back in the bar,” Harvey says, storing the sunglasses away in the inside pocket of his jacket. “When you took over my job. You promised me a suit.”

“Moe’s,” René says, and a soft smile appears on his face.

“Moe’s.”

Nodding, Harvey smoothes his palms against his thighs. Thank god the air conditioning is working in here.

“It’s been a long time.”

“Yeah.” Harvey’s eyes dart around the room and he takes in all the little things that have changed since his last visit here, a couple of years ago, shortly after the opening. “You’ve improved,” he says and gives René a pat on the arm. “About time. It was a rat’s hole the last time.”

“Very funny, Harvey,” René smiles thinly, but then his face lights up again. “Some things never change, on the other hand. So, a suit?”

Harvey nods. He looks around again and shrugs. “I need a black suit.”

“So you’re finally taking the plunge?” René claps his hands and bounces on his feet. “When’s—“

“It’s not for a wedding,” Harvey interrupts and his throat hurts when he talks. “It’s for a funeral.” He pauses and swallows. This shouldn’t be so hard, not when over a day has passed since Donna has told him. “My—it’s my father.”

“Oh,” René says and he actually covers his mouth with his hand. “Oh, Harvey, I’m so sorry!”

The genuine reaction makes Harvey’s eyes water and there’s a distinct sting in his chest that would have worried him under different circumstances. He nods.

“Thank you, René.”

“How are you holding up?” René looks truly concerned, and his hand on Harvey’s arm feels more like an anchor than a weight. “How’s Marcus?”

“I—“ Harvey clears his throat and closes his eyes for a moment. He takes a deep breath and nods. “I’m fine. I don’t know about Marcus yet, I’ve only talked to him briefly last night. I—I’m sure having Katie there with him will be of help.”

René nods again, then he takes a step backwards. “You’ve lost weight.”

“Maybe a bit,” Harvey admits and spreads his arms a little. “I’ve taken up boxing again.”

“Okay,” René says and reaches for the tape measure lying on the counter. “Let’s see, then.”

“René,” Harvey grabs René’s sleeve but let’s go again almost instantly. “Make it dark gray, as dark as possible. Not black. And… and I’ll pay you for it. I just made partner at the firm and…“ He falls silent and swallows around the lump in his throat.

“He’d have been proud, Harvey,” René says and strokes his hand down Harvey’s arm lightly. “He was always so proud of you, even back then. Even when and despite the fact you used to dress like an utter train wreck before I got my hands on you. I mean, properly.”

“Hey,” Harvey says and shakes René’s hand off of his arm. He grins, for the first time since Donna’s brought him the news. “You never had your hands on me, properly or not.”

“No, I didn’t, did I?” René smiles back. “Wonder why that is.” He winks, and for a second there Harvey thinks he knows. He’s tempted to ask, so tempted.

The only person who knew is gone and even though they’d barely seen each other anymore due to Harvey’s heavy workload and busy life it has always felt so good that there was someone who knew.

He should have told his father about the last time, about that night just a few nights ago when Rick had finally been there again. He should have called him right the next day and let him know.

“Try this one.”

René interrupts his train of thoughts by handing him two clothes hangers. A pair of trousers and a suit jacket. They’re black.

“We’ll look for shirts later,” René says, and Harvey nods, biting his lips. “And shoes.”

“Okay.”

Harvey retreats into the fitting room and hangs the clothes on the rack next to the mirror. He falls into the chair in the corner and buries his face in his hands.

His father is gone now. He really should have called.

*****

“Hey.”

Harvey has been in here for god knows how long already, raking his mind for what he might possibly say, but in the end it’s Rick who breaks the silence.

“Hey.”

“Back here so soon.”

“Yeah.”

Harvey bites his lips. He doesn’t know how long they’re going to have and he shouldn’t be beating around the bush. Rick deserves to know, so he might just tell it like it is. He takes a deep breath. “My father died.”

“Oh.” Ricky’s voice sounds small and soft, almost like it did all those years ago when they were still just kids. “So that’s what’s wrong.”

“What?”

“I mean,” Rick explains, and there’s still that softness in his voice that Harvey doesn’t understand. “I mean that I could sense something was wrong, very wrong, even before… before we met in here tonight.”

“Wha—How?”

“You felt… off. Wrong. There was something heavy, something… dark and dull. I’m sorry, Stan.” 

Harvey just nods and closes his eyes but then he remembers that Rick can’t see, so he speaks again.

“I know. Thank you.”

“You must be devastated.”

“I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not. You’re most definitely not.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“And I said that I know you’re not.”

“Rick, drop it.”

“No.”

“I said—“

“I don’t care what you said. I can feel you’re hurting and since when have we done that? Since when have we lied to each other in here?”

“Twice.”

Just one word, spoken quietly in the dark. 

“What?”

Ricky sounds utterly bewildered. “I don’t—“

“I lied to you twice in here before. When I told you that I didn’t want… Back then, I lied. And when I said I didn’t know why we didn’t kiss. See? You can’t always tell.”

The silence that falls between them makes everything a little darker for a moment, if that is possible in a place that is already the darkest darkness there ever was.

“You lied to me.”

“Yes.”

“Why?” 

“Because.”

Ricky huffs. He’s probably shaking his head, too. He sounds as if he’s shaking his head.

“Why, Stan?”

Harvey clenches his jaws. He knows that Rick won’t stop, he knows that that stubborn little shit never gives up, so he might as well tell him. 

Here goes nothing.

“Because everything else would have been unbearable.”

There. That shut him up. 

“Oh.”

Or not.

“So, you’re not fine.”

“No. I’m not.”

“I know.”

“You’re an annoying little shit, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Not about that. About your dad. I know what he meant to you.”

Harvey swallows. Ricky has always been able to do that, to get to him with just a few words. To make him cry. Well, almost.

“Thank you.”

It feels as if Rick is scooting closer, and Harvey takes a deep, thirsty breath. If only he could smell him. If only he could do that.

“He was the only one who knew about you.”

His words sound hollow. They taste hollow, too. Harvey smacks his lips around them, tries their bitter aftertaste on his tongue. 

“But that’s not true.”

“What are you talking about? Of course it’s true! I never told anyone else about this, about _you_ – just him.”

“ _You_ know.”

“Yeah, but I can’t very well talk to myself about you, can I?”

“Tell someone else.”

“No.”

“Why not? That friend of yours, the one you work with. You could tell her.”

“No. It’s none of her business.”

“Okay.” 

“Okay.”

“Is there anything I can do? I want to help.”

“Why haven’t you found me yet,” Harvey snaps. He knows he’s going below the belt with this but he needs someone else to hurt, too. “If you had you could at least have offered me a drink.” He scoffs. “But no, you can’t because you fucking didn’t try hard enough. I told you I needed you out there. I told you years ago, but you—“

“Believe me, I tried,” Rick cuts in, and he sounds just as hurt, just as raw and open as Harvey feels. “Always. I’ve tried so hard. I tried everything I knew. I don’t know what else to do anymore. Why can’t you just fucking tell me your name. Or where to look? Fuck, I could use a drink as well!”

Ricky’s voice has turned hard and sharp and he’s talking way to fast. He does that sometimes, when he’s excited or angry, Harvey knows that. But this? This is something else.

“Sometimes, it hurts so much I could scream. Not finding you. Not being able to… Shit, I’m doing it all wrong, I—Sometimes,” Ricky takes a deep breath and Harvey wishes he could just reach out and touch him, just his shoulder maybe or his arm. “Sometimes I feel so close. It feels as if I’m almost there, as if—Fuck, I don’t know. It feels as if I’ve already found you but I just don’t know. And that’s the worst. To think that… I mean, I can’t bear the thought of never finding you, but to think that we might just… _miss_ each other?” Rick huffs again and he sounds as if he’s crying. 

“Don’t cry,” Harvey says, feeling his eyes begin to prickle. “Please. Don’t cry.”

“Fuck.” Ricky sniffles and clears his throat. “I don’t want this anymore. Why can’t… That’s why I didn’t say anything for such a long time when we were in here. I thought it would stop eventually if I didn’t say anything.”

Another cough and a short pause. Someone shifting.

“It didn’t.”

“No.”

“And now I’m sitting here, whining, when your father is dead. God, Stanley, I’m so sorry. This should be about you, not about me.”

“It’s about us.”

“No, it’s not. It’s about you and your dad and—“

“Everything is about us. Don’t you get that?”

Silence.

Then nothing.


	14. Chapter 14

**2010: Harvey**

It takes Harvey five years to make senior partner, five years of long hours and tough cases, five years filled with about a thousand settlements and a few real wins. Big ones. Like the one that got him here, in this hotel room, sitting opposite a total Harvard douche bag with a slow and dull mind and the exact sense of entitlement that Harvey can’t stand.

He knows it’s not the kid’s, it’s not Chip’s, fault that he grew up rich. He knows it’s not Chip’s fault either that he’s a bit slow on the uptake and interested in nothing but status and money. He was brought up that way, never left that frame of mind, so he’s not the one to blame, not really.

Donna has shaken her head when she showed the kid in, and after two seconds Harvey had known why. This has to be the dullest, least inspiring person he’s ever met – at least since the last one before Chip.

Harvey sighs. He doesn’t want this, a drag, a burden, even though having his own associate is a sign of prestige, _the_ sign, perhaps. Even though Louis will be livid with envy and even though it would mean someone he could talk to and who wouldn’t necessarily be encouraged to talk back – he doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want to work with someone, to share his time and space and knowledge and his cases with someone whose interview is already so incredibly boring.

He hasn’t even asked for the list. He just lets Donna send in applicant after applicant and sits through interview after interview, glancing at the clock every now and then and hoping against hope that this will be over soon. Maybe by some miracle there will be someone in this endless row of people who turns out to be a little keener, a little more alive.

_Help me, Lionheart._

It’s Harvey’s go-to prayer, his usual silent call for help when things threaten to become overpowering or when there seems to be no way out. Usually, a calmness fills him when he says those words to himself, a certainty and a knowledge that whatever the world throws at him he can do.

This time is different. This time, his heart starts beating wildly and his head begins to swim. He feels dizzy and for a moment there he forgets how to breathe. He sits down for a moment, trying to even out his breathing. It takes him a little while to realize that it’s excitement that’s making him sway. It’s like the night of his prom, being named for the State Championship, his final exam at Harvard and his first case in court all combined in one. 

He’s so excited, so nervous that he thinks he might throw up – but in a good way if that’s even possible. He can’t remember ever having felt this way. But wait—he can. There’s this one time, this one night, a thousand years ago, a lava lamp, a sleeping brother, cigarette smoke and the Beach Boys. 

Then it hits him.

_Monumental._

That’s how he feels. It scares the shit out of him, but he’ll be dammed if he lets anyone find out. 

When Donna winks at him before she shows in the next applicant, Harvey knows. He decides to hire Mike in a heartbeat and he has to give it to himself – the show he puts on for Mike not to catch suspicion is worthy of an Oscar. Even he almost believes it in the end. He just knows that this is his chance, that this is this one opportunity he mustn’t let slip by. He knows he has to keep Mike by his side no matter what, for as long as it takes. He knows that one day he will tell him, not right now, not just yet, but one day he will tell Mike and he will tell Ricky. It’s only a matter of time when you come to think of it, and if there’s one thing Harvey knows it’s how to wait.

*****

**2010: Mike**

Before Mike knows what is happening, he has Grammy moved to full care and he’s on a plane to Boston. Walking around campus and along the streets of Cambridge seems alien to him, a bit like a dream. A bit like a suit that he has borrowed from a friend and that doesn’t quite fit. It’s also fun, though, and he gets to put his mind to use in a whole different way. Memorizing people and places instead of pages and paragraphs.

He’s exhilarated and he can’t wait to start his new job, his new life. And even though he doesn’t understand what has made Harvey Specter really go for it and hire him, he knows that everything is going to be all right.

He wishes he could tell Stanley, but he doesn’t manage to get there, not during his days he spends at Harvard nor when he gets back and starts dreaming about his first cases and all the new people he’s going to meet.

He’d probably have lost access to half of the things he’s desperate to tell Stanley about anyway, like he always does _in there_. 

*****

**2010 – 2011: Harvey**

The first time Harvey wants to tell Mike is the moment they first shake hands, even before the lock of that suitcase Mike is carrying snaps open and packages of pot spill all over the floor. No, that’s not true – that is the second time he wants to tell him. The first time is when he first sees him, flustered and a little sweaty, his hair a veritable mess and Mike trying to smooth it surreptitiously while Donna escorts him into the room. 

He wants to tell Mike when he hires him, he wants to tell him when Mike leaves, when he leaves the room he’s entered as a failure and a drug dealer as an associate at one of the top law firms in the city. When he leaves the room as Harvey’s associate.

He wants to tell him at his first day at Pearson Hardman – before he fires him and after. He wants to tell him when he re-hires him and when Mike tries to leave the following day.

He wants to tell him when Mike comes back the next morning. He smiles at Mike instead.

He wants to tell Mike a thousand times – every single day. He almost does when Mike knocks on his door in the middle of the night, drunk and with everything they need to turn around their case on a bar’s paper napkin. He almost tells him then, almost tells the truth to Mike’s flushed, slightly sweaty face and his tousled hair and his glittering eyes.

He wants to tell him the night they decide to fire Stan Jakobson, when Mike shows up in a pair of faded jeans and a sweater, again with tousled hair and lips that look as if they’ve been kissed for hours. His deflecting joke about Mike being a virgin when Jessica nearly catches them is cheap and he knows it. And he doesn’t even know if it’s true anymore, if he’d still be Mike’s first. They never talked about that again, so how can he possibly know?

He wants to tell Mike when he flinches at the name every time Harvey says it, Stan, Stanley, and when he’s so desperate to get out of the room the following day when they actually do let Stanley go. _Why did you never tell me,_ he wants to scream and _I could have helped if you’d told me before._

And when Mike yells at him in his office just a few days later, when he asks him why, why did Harvey hire him, why would he do that, why would he do that _to_ him and _for_ himself, he comes closer to spilling the beans than he ever has before. He comes as close as he dares, even showing Mike the layers, the _out here_ and the _in there_ , with words and gestures when he says _life is this – I like this_.

He wants to tell Mike a thousand times and a thousand times over each and every day but he never does. The time is never right or he doesn’t know how to or he thinks that Mike needs more time, that he needs more time, he can’t risk Mike leaving, not yet, not just right now, so he keeps his mouth shut and the truth to himself.


	15. Chapter 15

At first Harvey thinks he’s dreaming. It has happened before, him waking up in here only to realize that he isn’t really there but that he only thinks he is, that his mind is playing him tricks in his sleep.

But then he’s hit with such dark and solid desperation that he instantly knows that this is real. He’s here and Ricky, no – Mike is in here with him and that Mike is dying. It feels as if Mike is dying, just like back then, and the desperation slings itself around Harvey’s throat like a rope and it just gets tighter and tighter with every breath he tries to take. It takes his breath away and his voice along with it. He wants to say something, to ask what is going on, to offer help, something, anything, but he can’t.

“I’m alone,” Mike says and his voice sounds nothing like Mike’s voice at all. It doesn’t even sound like Ricky’s. It sounds like no one’s voice, dull and flat and dead like that.

“My… Grammy, she’s gone. She died in her sleep. I wasn’t there. Now I have nobody.”

All Harvey can do is listen. His chest constricts more and more with every word Mike utters and he can’t breathe, he simply can’t breathe. His mind becomes foggy and the pain radiating from Mike stabs him in the gut over and over again.

“I’ve lost everything. I’m alone. I have nobody.”

Harvey doesn’t even realize that Mike remembers everything that has happened this time, that he can tell him exactly why he’s hurting, not like that other time. He doesn’t even realize that things are different in here now.

“I… I don’t know what to say.” He chokes out those words and he knows that his voice sounds as if he’s swallowed a handful of rusty razor blades. 

He could tell him, of course, he could tell him now, in here, but the time doesn’t feel right in a way, it still doesn’t feel right, so he keeps his mouth shut and the truth to himself.

“I want to hold you.”

“You can’t.”

“I can try.”

“No, don’t. Don’t try. I don’t want you to.”

“Okay. Whatever you want.”

“I want this to be over. I never want to have to come back here ever again.”

This is so much worse than back then when Mike has asked Harvey if they could stay in here forever.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Oh, believe me. I do.”

“Rick, I—“

“I don’t care,” Mike spits, but his words lack edge. “I don’t give a fuck. I just want this to be over.” He laughs mirthlessly. “Well, technically, I want _everything_ to be over, but especially this. So shut the fuck up and leave me alone.”

Harvey closes his eyes and imagines pulling Mike into his arms. He imagines burying his nose in Mike’s hair and planting a kiss there, a decisive yet gentle one, a kiss that soothes, reassures and speaks of the truth.

*****

“My grandmother died.”

Mike’s eyes are surrounded by dark shadows and his hair and clothes are messier than Harvey has ever seen them.

“I know,” he says, shifting a little in his stance. “Look, you obviously weren’t ready to deal with it so I respected that by keeping you busy. Was I wrong?”

Mike shakes his head and opens the door a little further to let him step inside.

As far as Harvey can see Mike’s high and probably drunk as well. Harvey can’t blame him, he knows exactly how Mike is feeling, he has felt it himself last night in there, by proxy. So he walks into Mike’s apartment with firm, determined steps and he gets high with him, eats a whole bag of pretzels and drinks some incredibly tasty, refreshingly cool beer.

Then he sits Mike down to talk, to finally tell him. Somewhere in the back of his mind a thought rears its head, a suspicion, the suspicion that it’s maybe not such a good idea to do this while they’re both still high but he shuts that thought down, even though it makes his stomach hurt.

“I always hated the word ‘orphan’”, Mike murmurs and takes a quick sip from his beer. He’s leaning against the wall on the other side of the table, so Harvey watches him closely. “I mean, I just… I never felt like one. Until now.”

The bottle finds its way to Mike’s lips again and this time he takes a deep, long swallow. His Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps down the beer, and Harvey finds himself strangely mesmerized by that.

“Hey, how did you know about Grammy, by the way? You never said.”

Suddenly Harvey is stone-cold sober and there’s an icy pitch gaping in his stomach. 

“You told me.”

“What?” Mike looks at him and furrows his brows. “No, I didn’t.”

“You did. How else would I know?”

“I don’t know, Rachel maybe? Or Jenny? HR? I had to take yesterday off for—“

“No, _you_ told me, Mike.”

“When?”

“Not when,” Harvey says. His mouth is terribly dry all of a sudden and he can’t swallow. His tongue darts out and his lips feel cracked. “Where.”

“What?” Mike sounds utterly confused, yet there is something in his voice that tells Harvey that he’s beginning to suspect. “Where?”

“Where. Not _out here_. _In there._ ”

“No.”

“Mike.”

“No.”

Harvey huffs. He takes a deep breath before he speaks.

“Did I ever tell you about my dad?”

“I think you know the answer to that question.”

The ironic thing is that he does. It’s now or never, really, so Harvey nods.

“I do. I have. He was a saxophone player. He sat in with everybody because everybody loved him. He believed in love at first sight, and unfortunately... his first sight was a groupie.”  
When Mike doesn’t say anything, when he just sits there across the table and stares at him, Harvey swallows. He takes another deep breath.

“My mother. I was sixteen when I caught her cheating. I knew if I told my dad he'd... next two years went by, I didn't say a thing, and she went right on just... making him a fool.” Mike still doesn’t say anything and the look that has crept into his eyes makes Harvey want to recoil. But instead he reaches out once more. “Look, this is all to say that—“

“Your dad,” Mike finally say, interrupting Harvey mid sentence. “Was a saxophone player.” His voice is carefully measured, but a razor sharp blade is hovering at the back. 

“Yes.”

“Like… Like Miles Davis.”

Harvey pauses and closes his eyes. This is it.

“Yes.”

When he opens his eyes again, Mike is staring at him and his eyes are walls.

“No.”

“Mike—“

“Get out.”

“Mike, listen. I—“

“I said,” Mike hisses and rises from his chair, setting the bottle down onto the table with so much force it topples over and rolls over the table’s edge. It shatters on the floor. “Get. Out.”

Harvey tries one more time.

“Rick—“

“Don’t you dare call me that,” Mike cuts in, his face red and the veins at his temples bulging. “Don’t you ever call me that again. Ever.”

“Mike—“

“No. Don’t. How—How could you do that to me? How long have you know, hm? How long?”

“Since the interview.”

“Get out.”

“I—“

“He was all that I had, Harvey, all that I had left. And now… So don’t you dare. Don’t. just… Don’t.”

He yanks the bottle from Harvey’s hand and all but kicks Harvey so he’ll get up. 

Harvey nods and rises. He walks through the room slowly and turns around once more before he opens the door, his hand still clutching the handle. 

“Get out,” Mike whispers, his hands balled into tight fists. 

Harvey turns around and opens the door. When he closes it behind himself in the hallway, his heart is beating out of his throat. His palms are sweaty and he feels sick.

It’s a long walk from Brooklyn to his condo and by the time he returns home the sun is already setting faintly in the sky.

He is asleep before his whole body hits the mattress.


	16. Chapter 16

**2011: Mike**

“Shit.”

Mike can feel that Harvey is there the second he comes to. His presence is everywhere, it’s surrounding him and it’s filling him to the brim.

“I thought we were through with this. I thought it was over.”

“Mike.” 

Mike flinches. It’s the first time Harvey has called him that in here and his real name sits strange with him. Better this way than the alternative, though, Mike thinks and he’s glad that Harvey apparently will abide by his wishes for once.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice not quite as acerbic as he intends it to be, but maybe Harvey won’t notice. “Why isn’t this over, for fuck’s sake?”

“Because,” Harvey replies. He is so annoyingly calm it makes Mike feel sick. “Because it’s never going to be over. I thought you knew that.”

“Well, I didn’t,” Mike snaps. He has a headache. “Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“No, I mean – why didn’t you tell me? Why did you wait?”

“The time wasn’t right.”

“The _time_ wasn’t right? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means…”

Harvey pauses, and Mike isn’t entirely sure he wants to hear what comes next.

“It means that you weren’t ready. You were… you were just settling in.”

“I’ve been _settling in_ for over a year, Harvey.”

“You were with Jenny.”

“How do you know about Jenny?”

“Because I do.”

“Okay.” Mike pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “But what does that have to do with anything?”

“She’s important to you.”

“Do you think,” Mike can feel rage and anger boiling up inside of him, and even though he knows he should at least try to he has no intention of reining it in. “Do you honestly think that anything could be more important to me than this?”

Harvey doesn’t reply. He just hovers there, a presence wrapped around Mike and filling him to the brim, and it’s driving Mike out of his mind.

“I wish you hadn’t told me.”

“You—“

“Then I could at least still have this. Him.”

“You still do.”

“Do I?”

Harvey sighs.

“Mike.”

Now it’s Mike’s time to remain silent. He doesn’t know what to say anymore anyway so he might as well keep his mouth shut.

“Why did you say you wanted this to stop, then? That you wanted this to be over?”

Mike scoffs. Harvey can really be pretty slow on the uptake sometimes.

“Because I knew I’d fuck this up. I’d fuck it up like I fucked up everything else in my life so far. I… I couldn’t fuck this up. It was all I had and now, with everything out in the open, I don’t even have this anymore and… I just… I can’t, Harvey. I just can’t.”

“Mike,” Harvey says when Mike falls silent. “You’re goddamn right you can’t. You won’t. You won’t fuck this up. I won’t let you.”

Mike swallows. He can’t believe Harvey still wants this, any of this. Him. In a way, it’s all too much, and he doesn’t know what to do. He wants to tell Harvey to fuck off, he wants to quit his job first thing in the morning and he wants to run away as fast as he can and hide. Stay awake for the rest of his life, too, if need be. And he wants to tell Harvey all of that, he wants to shout it into his face, but it’s still so fucking dark in here and he doesn’t even know where Harvey’s face is. So he says the first thing that comes to his mind instead.

“Can we kiss this time?”

“Yes.”

“I mean, we don’t know how much time we have this time, right? So maybe we can try that first? I mean, I don’t know if we can even get there again, that close, but I’d really like to—“

“Mike. I said _yes_.”

“Oh. Good.” Relief floods through Mike’s mind and he tries to get rid of some of the tension in his body by shaking his hands. “How—What do I do?”

“Close your eyes,” Harvey says, and Mike is sure he can hear the same relief in Harvey’s voice. “Close your eyes and lick your lips.”

Mike does what Harvey asks him to do, and his lips begin to prickle when he runs his tongue over them. 

“Hold still.”

Gradually, his face turns warm, as if someone were caressing it. He can feel Harvey’s breath against his cheek.

“Can you feel that?”

He can feel Harvey nod and when he licks his lips again, there is something else, a feather light touch. 

Harvey.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Harvey murmurs, his words fluttering against Mike’s lips. 

Mike nods.

“Keep your eyes closed.”

The moment their lips meet, Mike knows that from this moment on everything is going to be all right. He sighs and lets Harvey caress his lips with his and with his fingers and with his tongue as well until he’s dizzy with need. He opens his mouth and it feels as if Harvey is holding his breath for a moment before their tongues meet.

“I don’t want to lose this,” Mike whispers, and Harvey deepens the kiss. Mike can taste him now and he can feel himself get more and more aroused. Harvey’s hands are cupping his face and Harvey’s chest is hard and solid against his.

“Do you think,” Mike asks, breaking the kiss. “Do you think this is the last time?”

“I don’t know,” Harvey murmurs, running his thumb over Mike’s lower lip. “I hope not.”

“What happens when we wake up?”

“I don’t know.”

Harvey kisses him again, and this kiss is even better than the first. This time it’s Harvey, though, who pulls away.

“I guess we’ll find out soon.”

“Please, no. Don’t tell me—“

“I have to go. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t. Please. Just stay a little longer. I want to—“

“I’m sorry,” Harvey says and the warmth on Mike’s face gradually fades away. “I can’t…”

And Mike is alone. He doesn’t know how to make himself wake up but he tries to as hard as he can.


	17. Chapter 17

**2011: Harvey**

It’s bright daylight already when Harvey is shaken awake by a banging on his front door. At first, he doesn’t realize what it is, he thinks it might be a thunderstorm or heavy construction work, but when his senses sharpen a little, he recognizes the sound.

He disentangles himself from his sheets and stumbles through the living room and the hallway towards the door.

The banging doesn’t cease, quite on the contrary. It grows more forceful with every step Harvey takes. 

Mike practically slams the door in his face as soon as he’s unlocked the lock and turned the handle.

“You’re going to finish what you started,” is all Harvey hears before Mike has slammed the door shut and pressed Harvey up against it.

Mike kisses him with all he’s got and the kiss takes Harvey’s breath away.

“You,” Mike breaks the kiss for a second before he dives in again. “Are going to finish this.” Another short break and a gasp for air that ends in a strangled moan. “You’re going to—“

Mike’s fingers tear at Harvey’s t-shirt, frantically trying to pull it over his head without breaking the kiss.

“Mike,” Harvey gasps and he has to focus as hard as he can to get his thoughts straight and his words out in the right order. “Wait—“

“I’ve waited since I’ve been sixteen, Harvey,” Mike groans and pulls him close again. This time, his hands reach for the waistband of Harvey’s track pants and for some reason his own fingers join Mike’s. “I’ve fucking waited long enough.”

“Mike,” Harvey tries to break the kiss again, but Mike is having none of it. He’s going in full force, and when Harvey does manage to break away for a second, Mike is out of his shirt and Harvey is bare-chested as well.

“Mike, wait.” Harvey reaches for Mike’s hands and takes them in his. He gives them a firm squeeze and nods. “Are you sure about this?”

“Are you _kidding_ me?” Mike shakes his head and grins. “I want you, Harvey. I want you _in there_ and I want you _out here_. I want you in every way and I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life.”

Mike’s grin is infectious, and Harvey can feel his face being claimed by an answering smile. 

“Good,” he says and cups Mike’s face with his hands.

“That’s what you did just before,” Mike murmurs and leans into the touch. “Feels good.”

“Yeah,” Harvey smiles and places a gentle kiss on Mike’s lips. “Yeah, it does.”

When they kiss again it’s a little less frantic and a lot more intimate. Mike lets Harvey kiss him, he opens up to him in the most beautiful way. He becomes soft and pliant in Harvey’s arms and he’s so delightfully warm and he tastes so incredibly good.

“Hmmm,” Harvey hums and lets his hands run down Mike’s sides. “You feel good.”

“You, too.” Mike places his hands on Harvey’s chest and looks at him, really looks at him. “So, we’re really going to do this?”

“Yeah,” Harvey murmurs. Mike’s eyes are dark and they’re glittering with so much desire it takes Harvey’s breath away. “We are.”

“Good.”

There is that smile again, the smile that lights up the whole room, Harvey’s whole life, really, and it’s all Harvey ever wants to see.

Harvey pulls Mike close and kisses him again, thoroughly and hungrily, and when he shifts a little and Mike’s hardness brushes against his thigh, he moans.

“God, you have no idea how much I want you,” Mike whispers against Harvey’s lips and his cheeks are hot under Harvey’s thumbs. 

Harvey chuckles. 

“Well, if _this_ —“ Harvey presses his legs lightly against Mike’s crotch, eliciting a quiet moan from Mike’s lips “—is any indication, I think I might.”

Mike’s hips jerk against Harvey apparently completely of their own accord and Mike blushes. “Yeah, you might…”

Shifting a little, Harvey pushes his own groin against Mike’s. “Same here.”

“Oh god.” Mike’s hold around him tightens and the next second Mike is drinking Harvey’s breath in a desperate, claiming kiss. “Take me. Take me to bed and make me yours.”

“There’s nothing I’d rather do.”

Harvey guides Mike to the bedroom by a gentle touch of his hand at the small of Mike’s back. He tries to get them there as fast as possible, but every few feet either he or Mike stops and kisses and touches, they are so hungry for each other the sheer want makes Harvey’s knees weak and his stomach lurch again and again. 

Their remaining clothes have disappeared somehow when they finally reach the bedroom and fall down onto the bed where the sheets are still rippled and the pillows are lying around in messy piles all over the place. 

“This smells like you,” Mike turns his head and inhales deeply. “It smells so much like you I think I could come from that alone.”

The smile on Mike’s face faints a little. Their eyes lock and Mike’s go even darker than they were before.

“Don’t make me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Harvey’s voice is laced with arousal and desire. Mike is lying there, his Mike, all pale, smooth skin and flushed chest and dark, pink lips, and the mere prospect of having him makes Harvey’s cock twitch. “Come here.”

Kneeling between Mike’s legs, Harvey reaches out and pulls Mike into a sitting position. He gathers him in his arms and inhales deeply. He could come from that alone as well and that thought makes him chuckle. Mike’s throat is warm and soft, and Harvey begins to kiss his way along it, downwards, from Mike’s jaw to his clavicle and then across to the hollow of his throat.

Mike bends his head backwards, giving Harvey even more access, and turns his head to the side. The message couldn’t be any clearer, and Harvey doesn’t need to be told twice. 

Mike moans when Harvey begins to bite and suck at his skin and he arches his back, pressing himself against Harvey’s body as much as he possibly can.

“So that people can see,” he moans hoarsely, exposing his throat even more. “Make it so that everyone can see.”

“Christ, Mike,” Harvey hisses and moves up a little further. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“I—“ Mike’s reply is cut short by another moan when Harvey reaches between them and takes Mike’s cock in his hand. It’s hard and hot and throbbing and it pulses against Harvey’s fingers with the rhythm of Mike’s heartbeat.

As his kisses move away from Mike’s throat and on to his chest, he lowers Mike back onto the mattress. Mike is trembling underneath him and the noises he makes send Harvey’s mind soaring. His cock is straining against his lower belly and he’s so hard it hurts. 

“I want you,” he moans, echoing Mike’s words from earlier, when Mike spreads his legs, offering himself to Harvey like the most precious gift. “You have no idea how much.”

“Well,” Mike grins, flexing his hips. “If any of this, not only but including the way you look, is any indication, I think I might.”

“Yeah, you might…” Harvey lowers himself down until he’s lying on top of Mike and rolls his hips. The friction of their cocks rubbing against each other is sweet torture, so Harvey does it again and again until Mike’s hips are rolling, too, matching his pace. “God,” he pants, “I haven’t done that since god knows when.”

Mike catches Harvey’s ear lobe between his teeth and pulls playfully, his palms roaming Harvey’s back. When Harvey moans, his hips jerk erratically. 

“Been with a man?”

“Dry-humped until I came, smart ass.”

Mike’s eyes go wide and his hips still. His fingers dig into the muscles of Harvey’s back hard and he hisses.

“Stop.”

Harvey can feel Mike’s cock swell and twitch between their bodies and he flexes his hips again _just so_ , grinning.

“What?”

“Stop that, for fuck’s sake, or this will be over before it has really started.”

“Okay,” Harvey grins and slows down his movements almost to a complete halt. “Better?”

Mike shakes his head frantically and squeezes his eyes shut tightly. “Not really,” he moans, but the pressure of his fingers on Harvey’s back eases a little. “God, I’m so close…”

“I want to come when I’m inside of you,” Harvey whispers into Mike’s ear, just shifting the tiniest bit. “But you go ahead. I’m sure we’ll have you up and coming again in no time…”

“Don’t say _coming_ ,” Mike moans and there’s a hint of desperation in his plea that goes right to Harvey’s cock. “Or that’s exactly what’s—“

“Go ahead,” Harvey whispers again, moving his hips in a deep, long roll with a slight twist at the end, drawing another of those intoxicating moans from Mike’s lips. “It’s okay…”

“Okay,” Mike’s moan actually turns into kind of a whimper at the end, and from the way his hips buck helplessly, Harvey can tell that he has almost given in.

“Okay,” he echoes and when Mike nods he tightens his arms around him and hums.

That hum is Mike’s undoing and with a guttural huff he spills himself between their bodies, his come hot and sticky against their cocks and bellies. He’s shaking through his climax in Harvey’s arms, and Harvey has to muster every last bit of resolve he’s capable of to not follow suit.

He lets Mike come down a bit before he withdraws and sits back on his heels, his palm flat on Mike’s stomach next to his still twitching cock.

“Good?”

All Mike can do is nod. His eyes are still closed and he’s panting through the aftershocks of his release. 

“Good.” Harvey smiles. Mike looks incredible like this, flushed, trembling and his skin covered with his come. 

“You look incredible.”

Mike winces, but then a smile spreads on his face.

“Yeah.”

Chuckling, Harvey retrieves a condom and a tube of lube from the bedside table’s drawer. He nudges Mike’s leg and Mike bends his knees, the smile still lingering on his face.

Mike lets Harvey prepare him for what seems like hours and when Harvey is done, when Mike is finally all loose and open for him, he is hard and leaking again. When Harvey withdraws his fingers, he opens his eyes.

“Make me yours.”

Harvey makes quick work of putting on the condom and slicking himself up with lube. There is no way in hell he can wait a second longer. He leans forward and positions himself.

“Mike…”

He enters Mike with one languid thrust and Mike closes his eyes for a moment, fisting his fingers into the fabric of the sheets but otherwise he remains relaxed and open so Harvey doesn’t stop. When he’s fully surrounded by Mike’s tight, welcoming heat, Mike opens his eyes again.

“Finally,” he whispers and Harvey bites his lips. 

“I don’t know if I can—“

“You don’t have to,” Mike cuts in gently and reaches up to touch Harvey’s face. “It’s okay.” He brushes his thumb over Harvey’s cheek and then he runs it over Harvey’s lips. “You’ve waited so long…”

Harvey takes a deep, shuddering breath and stars explode in front of his eyes when Mike tightens around him. For a moment he’s neither here nor there, he’s hovering between the worlds, and it’s the most amazing thing he’s ever felt.

Mike’s body draws him in even deeper and urges him to move. He tries to go slow, as slow as he can, but after a while Mike is begging him for more, so he speeds up his thrusts. He keeps them long and steady, though, and soon Mike is writhing underneath him, yearning for completion.

Mike falls first, Harvey’s name a golden moan on his lips, and he takes Harvey right with him over the edge. For the first time Harvey truly understands what that means, the words edge and _falling_. It feels like zero gravity and as if Mike is the only thing keeping him safe from the void.

It feels like nothing he has ever felt before.

*****

Later that morning Mike catches him humming under the shower. They’ve woken up together, tangled in each others’ arms, and they’ve gone for another round, and now Harvey is in the shower and Mike is pulling the shower door open, grinning from ear to ear.

The love bite Harvey has given him shines dark red against his pale skin and Harvey can’t stop staring.

“Beach Boys,” Mike grins as he steps into the shower and closes the door behind him. “ _Excellent_ choice.”

Harvey couldn’t agree more.


	18. Epilogue

**The Future: Harvey & Mike**

It takes Mike a minute to recognize the place even though it’s the same it has ever been. It’s as dark, as weird, and of course Harvey is there. He’s right there and that feels so good that Mike could cry.

“Hey.” Harvey’s voice is as warm and as calm as ever, too, yet there’s a hint of trepidation in it.

“Hey?”

“Yeah,” Harvey says and Mike can hear that he’s smiling. “Hey.”

“What do you mean, _Hey?_ ”

“I’m saying hello to you,” Harvey explains, and Mike feels an instant urge to punch him in the face.

“Do you know how long it’s been?”

“Calm down, rookie. It’s been a couple of days at most.”

“It’s been five years, Stanley. _Five years._ ”

“Harvey,” Harvey says, and Mike feels a headache looming on the horizon.

“Yeah, Stanley, _Harvey_ , whatever. What kept you so long? God, I missed you so much, I…”

“You’re not going to cry, are you?”

“No,” Mike says and his anger deflates in a second. “I’ve cried enough.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“So, five years, huh?”

“Yeah, five fucking _years_.”

“Mike, I really am sorry.”

“I know.”

“So,” Mike says and Harvey relaxes next to him. 

“So.” 

“Oh,” Mike says and he can feel himself bursting into a grin. “Guess who I met.”

“I don’t know,” Harvey grins back. “The Easter bunny?”

“Not funny!” Mike scowls. He forgets sometimes how annoyingly childish Harvey can be.

“Come on,” Harvey retorts. “It’s a little bit funny.”

“No,” Mike shakes his head. “No, it isn’t. It’s lame, Harvey. _Lame._ But never mind. I—Rick Sorkin. I met Rick Sorkin.”

“Who?”

“Come on, Harvey, who knows how long we’ve got and there are other things I want to get to before… so work with me here, please.”

“Okay, Rick Sorkin. Guy who didn’t show up.”

“Yep,” Mike says and smiles. This is going to be such a great story to tell. Harvey is going to love it. “I met him at the Harvard Club, at your wake.”

“My _what_?” 

Mike just wishes that Harvey had something in his mouth right now, coffee maybe or scotch. It would have been so great to hear him sputter it all out.

“Your wake. At the Harvard Club.”

“Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“Nope. Not kidding. You were dead. There was nothing you could do.”

“You had a wake. For me. At the Harvard Club.”

“Sure did.”

“Thank you.”

“Your gratefulness is overwhelming, dude. There were tons of people and everyone—“

“Do I have to tell you again not to call me dude?”

“Probably,” Mike waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. “But not the point. Rick Sorkin showed up out of the blue to pay his respects. Apparently, you’ve always been a bit of a hero to him. Odd guy. But nice. So, he showed up there to pay his respects and we got talking. And—“

“And?”

“Will you shut up now, for fuck’s sake, and let me tell my story.” 

“Sure thing, Mike. Go ahead.”

Mike sighs. He might as well get this over with quickly so Harvey can have his time as well. 

“Anyway, Rick Sorkin showed up and told me why he never made it to the interview back then.”

“And?”

“Okay, he met his other part right before his slot. Amanda. Married only three months later, three kids, five grandchildren, a sixth one on the way. She worked at the reception. At the Chilton.”

“Good,” Harvey says and Mike can hear him chuckle. “Would have hated to think that he missed out on me just to clear his space for you.”

“Oi!” Mike raises his hand to slap Harvey’s arm but he drops it again almost instantly. Too many years in here have taught him not to get his hopes up.

A slap against his arm makes him jump.

“Hey!”

Silence.

“Harvey?”

“Yeah?”

“What—“

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think…” Mike reaches out and there he is, Harvey, right where Mike’s hand is, as solid as they come. “What the—“

“Wait,” Harvey says and reaches for Mike’s hand. His fingers are warm and sure and real and suddenly Mike can’t breathe. “Let me turn on the light.”

Mike’s eyes take a long time to adjust but when they do there he is. Harvey. He’s a lot younger than when Mike saw him last but also a bit older than when they first met, maybe in his late forties or so, and he looks so, so good.

“Harvey?”

“Yeah.”

“What does this mean?”

Harvey reaches out and touches Mike, touches his face, his lips and then his arm and his hand. It has always been a surprise and an utter miracle to Mike how his hand fit so well with Harvey’s.

“Does that mean that I’m—“

“I think so,” Harvey says and smiles at him. He goddamn smiles and all Mike wants to do is kiss the breath out of him.

“God, I missed you.”

“Me, too, rookie. Me too.”

The embrace Harvey pulls him into is the best thing Mike has ever felt. Or one of the ten best things, maybe. At least one of the ten best things.

Mike’s face is wet when they finally break apart. 

“What about the kids?” It’s the first thing that comes to Mike’s mind and he knows Harvey’s worried about that as well. “Do you think they will be all right?”

“I think they will be just fine, Mike,” Harvey says after a short pause. “They’re like us, after all. They will never be alone. They’ve found their other halves.”

“They have,” Mike says, snuggling up close to Harvey, laying his head on Harvey’s chest. “So, how long do you think we have this time around?”

“I think this might be it, rookie,” Harvey smiles, burying his face in Mike’s hair and inhaling deeply. “I think this time we might have forever.”

 

~fin~

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! <3
> 
> I'm [sal-si-puedes](http://sal-si-puedes.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. Come and say "Hi!"!


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